I dropped my blanket onto the floor this morning
and now I’m washing its cover.
How funny is it that the whole thing resembles a behavioral regression. It’s like how I react when I heard my professor hurting her leg when she fell onto the floor while sleeping (May God bless her. She’s a shrewd nice old lady).
But I’m clearing the mess now, which I’ve been doing since seven years ago. Mother left me when I was only thirteen. I’d been doing my own laundry since then.
I’d been dealing with the mess created by her for years.
I’d been handling the debris
the debris of a family
the debris of the mother-daughter relationship
the debris of my heart.
Our relationship improved a bit throughout the years, but I am no longer the dependent sweetie-babe of her. We used to tell each other I Love You before sleep, but ever since her departure, I found this phrase awkwardly disgusting.
She makes me phone calls every festival, and before she hangs up, she still says I Love You.
And I never said the three effing words to her anymore.
Throughout these years, I have become more or less a self-reliant person, I am grateful for the fact that she left me when I was still young,
when it was still not too late for me to become independent.
when it was early enough for me to pull myself together and get used to the adult’s world, and
when it was exactly the appropriate time for me to start doing my laundry.
