Pocket full of stars

1 [RAHI]

The trills of the alarm clock are not as loud as my mother's footsteps.

It's not that my mother slaps the floor with her feet while walking but I know that distinct dull soft thuds of her heels as she strides across the dining hall to come to my room and say, "Won't you wake up today?"

No matter who calls how loudly, my mother's single sentence in the softest voice could pull me out of bed even in the early mid-winter mornings.

She was like a ticking bomb you will hate to detonate.

At the same time, she was a soft feathery pillow you would love to cuddle with and drift into a dreamless sleep.

She was a mixture of positivities and negativities but overall, she was a wonderful mother.

So it was hard to hate her.

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You can tag me as an ungrateful daughter but my effort was relentless.

I always tried to understand her and act accordingly.

There were times when I warned her about people and their bad intentions.

It was ridiculous for a child to advise an adult but I saw things she was blind to.

The sneaky sneers of the ones she loved, the greedy leech-like attitude of some well-wishers, the snide remarks that my naïve mother failed to understand—quite peculiarly, I could point those out instantly.

Observing was my forte and I made it a mission in my childhood to ensure that my mother did not fall victim to such people.

Because, she was good at heart and lived for others, rather than for herself.

However later, I came to know that she was living for none.

She was simply existing as a penance for killing somebody.

In the face of guilt and regret, my efforts to keep her safe felt meaningless.

Moreover, how I lived was not of concern for her as long as she got to exist out of atonement.

We were related by blood, lived under the same roof and slept on the same bed yet we were inhabitants of different planets.

She was a competitive lady and I was the object with which she competed.

However, unlike her, I had given up on life much earlier than I could start, so I hated competing.

I did what I felt was comfortable even if it meant falling behind others.

Where was I supposed to reach after competing with others for my entire life?

I felt like the hamster they show in cartoons—running on the wheel and reaching nowhere.

Doesn't being happy at the end of the day matter the most?

For someone growing up in neglect and hatred, I thought she knew the importance of bliss and serenity, but that was an overestimation.

Her sad life was not her fault...entirely.

She was looking for love, care, support, and attention in the wrong place all the while denying me mine.

I am not complaining.

I am jealous and angry with the people who received the adoration and importance meant for me.

My mother never realised that.

She believed she was the best mother one could ever have.