Tonight I had a dream, I was going to put this into the DREAMS section, but funny enough, after waking up, still remembering every part of it, I daydreamed a bit and started thinking about my mother, which had nothing to do with what I dreamt (cars and a cradle of beer), but thought it would bring me more in an introspective trip, although I know nobody will make it to the end of this post.
Mother. Some great moments I remeber as a child and very difficult ones as a teenager.
I was promising to be the easiest kid since I was born. Apparently never moaned, never made a scene, never claimed too much attention... But I was bloddy stubborn as hell. And that made the hell for my parents to educate me. I never accepted a 'no' you see? On top of it I was supertrusting, fearless, hyperactive oh and hypercreative, I had too much imagination. I lived in my own world of love and hapiness until I met my first boyfriend...
That is unrelated. I thought about her, because as Carol said, muttergestoerte Leute we never stop thinking about her and make sure we will never turn like her. And in both cases the similarities kinda filter. And it's scary. At times.
My mother allowed me to look at the diaries she wrote up until she turned about 18. Back then I could only see a very sensitive girl growing up in a slight ignorant and rough environment. A mother who made her feel dirty when she became a woman, a rather tight and controlling father.
She used to write stories all the time. I read her stories, they were full of compassion, freedom and sensitivity. She wondered about the sea, the nature of laugh, friendship...
It took her 6 years to make the step with my father, she wasn't sure. He was obsessed with getting married, she wasn't sure.
It hurts me to hear she doesn't believe in friendship, but she made a friend out of my father, I believe. I like to think she married him because she felt disappointed by some friends that put her aside to "catch a good party". I will never do this to you, cigroneta, because no matter what I love you over everything (there are levels, no matter what comes between us, we will get our chance ) <-- just making sure my best friend sees that I don't even share the thought...
But my parents couldn't stay together if they weren't friends. My dad was a loud, show off boy, with a promising future, being, as they were, the prolo-praps in a hippy generation. The ones of the cinquecentos, the girls with bras and beehives, the hairgel, tupe and polyester; the ones that looked like the boys and girls in "Grease" instead of "Hair".
I woke up this morning and I thought of her like the person in her stories, sensitive, full of compassion. And it made sense.
There are many, many things I don't agree with her, but some others she refuses to let go on the surface I find so cool.
She is afraid of being compassive, but she is: she won't listen, she will critizise and hurt you verbally when she runs out of argumentation. But when you cease talking and you leave her alone some hours, you find out she feels bad about it and will compensate you with amazing compassion and generosity. That's a thing I also realized about my sister (although she has strong argumentations and can make her point) and she is not afraid of being compassive, I think she only has it with me.
She is very generous. Also, she won't show that. She'll have always expenses under control but she knows she is generous, with everyone. She loves doing gifts, something I think I inheritated. I love making people happy. And light them up now and then with something uncompromised (hate presents that have to be given in a certain date)
She is very sensitive, but found shelter in my father not to be a soft egg.
He provides the sense to the sensitivity. That makes them happy instead of profusely worried. I've never felt overparented. Well, hell! I fought a lot against that, I didn't like being overprotected or controlled (or overfed. Everyone knows I have a healthy appetite, that's unrelated but I love to repeat it. I hated my grandparents stuffing food in my mouth and following me around with edibles, God! I have such a trauma with that)
Just wanna bring Maxi on this one, because the pict is very representative
Anyway, I learnt to work on my freedom in my teenies, and despite my extreme extrovert character I could be trusted. No drugs, no (unprotected) sex, no violence and overall I think I was and I am a honest person.
In the contrary a lot of staying out and a lot of passed curfews (which made my sister's life so much easier).
As a kid I have to blame she (my mother) was the softie, who couldn't do anything but shout and get my father to do the dirty work. I hated that. I was hoping her to once give me a proper dry slap, for f**k's sake! Or some explanation that wouldn't involve "I am your mother and I tell you so".
And then she wouldn't enjoy my father's punishing and be compassive again. But she kept going telly-tell my father. I think I started behaving when he stopped hitting me one day and opened up to show me his worries. We could finally talk and I understood him. I cried as I could never cry with physical pain!
I am pretty soon going to BCN and I want to have a little chat with her. I know I can not walk up to her and say that I am going through a lost stage in which I am feeling deserted, anxious and unloved.
Vamos! if I went into detail she wouldn't understand, she would then attack and tell me I am a weirdo. I need to get some information by scratching a bit the genetical information as per why and where do some things come from. Or how to be more open and easy about it. A little 'flesh or your flesh' exchange of impressions could help see things from another angle.
Quite unplanned I came to work a bit earlier to get my internet dosis and dedicate my mother a couple of lines, after thinking so much about her the whole evening. Then, I found a comment from my sister (merci per passar-t'hi) already threatening with lecturing me. And taking over her motherly/younger-but-more-responsible-sister-role. Arrgggg...
Maybe I should let her lecture me and get the talking with mum. I think its a wicked strategy.
I remember my mother always saying she'd like us to be friends, and that's how I understood she didn't believe in friendship. I cannot trust inner worries to my mother. She would tolerate from other people, but has little diplomacy when it comes to me.
Particularly me. But asking the right questions she can be a very enriching source.
