I think I liked walking around the shore each day, getting my feet dirty with sand and collecting shells with my mother. I hated her, I truly did but that hatred stemmed from somewhere I never fully understood.
She said, "Look at the bright sun. Tomorrow will be better. Wear your sandals quickly and head home."
We had been at the beach for only 15 minutes. This was what made me hate her. I knew that if I'd argue her rebuttal would be simple: Grounded
I had learnt that after years of living under one roof with no friends, hearing the word 'grounded' could still make your existence more dull. I had learnt that if you were secluded enough, you were also free. When you were homeschooled you were truly alone. I believed myself exceptional in that remark. I had this uncanny ability to hide at parties.
Someone once told me, "You're only free, when there's no one waiting for you."
I soon came to realize that this someone missed something important.
"There's always someone waiting and when you hate that certain someone, you're more bounded than you could have ever been".
That's the outlook I had for my mother.
Each day was a chore for her. A miserable reminder that she had a son who was incapable in every aspect in which she was not. For she would wake up automatically when her briskets were done tenderizing; she woke up from the sheer smell. I basked in all her perfection. I never thought that she was someone who didn't put in effort. I think she was someone who had never struggled, not someone to whom everything was handed to but someone to whom the world was a house and she the architect. She renovated everything about herself and that house with ease. I could tell that whenever I was watching her cook, watching her pick the fruits from our garden, she was not built for this life of mundanity.
