Hey Ma.

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Hey Ma.

Once and for all, please stop.

Stop it all.

It doesn’t help when you have a word of advice for everything I do in life, or a sigh of caution, and worse still, when you are right all the time. Every decision I take, that you forbid me to make which I take anyways, I always end up regretting- regretting, not listening to you. It doesn’t help when,  even after it all, it’s your shoulders that take my head and your arms that hold me steady. It doesn’t work that way, Ma. Just, let me be. Let me sit and cry over that boy you disproved of at first sight, whom I fought for so hard with you, and whom I gave my heart anyway, and who tossed it right away. I chose him over you. Hate me some for it.

I deserve the cold night Ma, it isn’t right that you stay up to keep me warm, always.

Ma, stop being so forgiving. You have no need to tolerate all I hurl at you everyday, the words, the temper, the behaviour. You have no right, to make me feel so guilty as you do when I act absolutely stupid and you stay quiet and then ask me if I want tea, two minutes later, like nothing happened. My words are sharp, I know because I think about them sometimes at night and they still burn, so they must have been red-hot when they hit you. It wouldn’t hurt to shout at me something hurtful once in a while – I do it all the time and, it don’t seem to work on you.

Your smile does sting, at times like these.

Stop growing so much. You’re old enough now, for heaven’s sake. You still grow every single day. You grow more giving, more loving, more forgiving than I knew you to be before. I can’t match up to it all. It just isn’t right. It isn’t fair that time is running out and I know lesser and lesser about you, always. You give your love, and it grows warmer; you give your light, you radiate brighter; you lend your life and nothing seems more alive then you.

What will I do, Ma, when you are no longer by my side, and it’s another cold night and I’m shivering and I’m supposed to be able to brave it all because you have taught me to? What am I supposed to do, Ma, when a boy breaks my heart, again, because they always will, and I can’t breathe with how much it all pains, but I am supposed to be able to put my fist in my mouth and stifle my cry because you aren’t there to listen anymore?  I don’t believe I’ve learnt, Ma. I’ve only marvelled. You end up gaping at things too glorious, and I don’t think I’ve been near anything as glorious as you. Tell me, Ma, did you learn all this from the river flowing through our town, that, like the river, you give all the time, you give more and more, and yet you don’t end.

I went with you everyday to the river side all these years, and I remember you telling me how grandma used to take you to the riverside with her when you were my age. Did you learn all this then? Have I, God forbid, learnt it all too?

 

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