[Hmm, maybe I shouldn't be contributing and putting up these parent issue blogs at the same time, considering some of them know about these? Oh well...]

I get in a lot of fights with my mom; it's pretty crazy.

For the longest time, I thought my Chinese zodiac was a sheep/ram. My mother was an ox and we would often read at those Chinatown restaurants eating Americanized Chinese food, that the two animals don't get along. Jokes would go around and that became my "justification" as to why my mom and I were the way we were. Later on I discovered - after moving to Indonesia, no less - that I was actually a horse (my birthday's right on the cusp of the Chinese New Year - hey, what did I know about China?)

My mother is the headstrong one in the family. My dad's certainly no wimp in life, but at home he is compelled to follow my mother's orders. I know my parents, especially my mother, care for me like no other but it they certainly don't know how to cultivate a favorable relationship with me.

My dad comes from a family where kids were disciplined by being insulted. My mother claims that she was not one to berate others the way my dad and his family do, but only started to after she married my dad. I believe that claim more than ever now that I'm here and really looking beneath the surface of my [extended] family. When I moved to Richmond all I had were vague memories of unfamiliar faces at Christmas parties or birthdays. As far as I was concerned, I had no other relatives. Looking at them now with the eyes of a less naive, more cynical me, I can see how my parents complete their puzzles.

There was a time when it got to be unbearable almost. My mom and I. W e went from our fight-a-day status to three-fights-a-day. This was during the couple of years before we moved to Indonesia. I guess it was a combination of me entering my "wildest" teenage years and my parents stress over our move but it certainly felt like all she could do was pick a fight with me everyday. She was never truly satisfied with what I had become (something that I held closely with pride), everything I did was wrong (I was expected to fix my own ineptitude when I obviously didn't believe that those were the problems that had to be fixed), and I was forbidden to believe anything contrary to her beliefs (certainly, if she believes a good Christian should be like that, so should I). She actually took up a lot of her threats and I often found myself stranded alone - in more ways than one. I had gotten used to the yelling and screaming every time I had fallen sick or John got into trouble at school, but now added to the list were things out of my control. I was the oldest, therefore I was responsible for everything.

The days grew more drawn-out at home: hazy and weary. I lived my life off of the adrenaline I had forced upon myself. Actually, excluding my home life, those last couple of years had been the best years of my life thus far.

A lot of our fights are actually pretty trivial. They are things my mother feels she has to magnify to the extent that we both get annoyed with each other enough to keep the wheel turning. My mom has a way of making a point without actually having a point to make. I know that she knows she sometimes is wrong, but she would never even consider that she should go back on her word. The more we fought, the more tired I got, the more I rebelled. We were both exhausted from all of the arguments but it pierced us more to let them go. We both arrived in Indonesia with too many scars that would always remain deeply etched into us.

The problem didn't exactly fix itself with the change of environment. The explosions were less frequent but each became more intense than the previous. I've heard that analogy that children are their parents' glass. We start out pure, without any blemishes but over the years we collect dust from the neglect, or scratches from the carelessness. Some of us break into a million pieces and no matter what you do to reverse the fait accompli, the damage is done. I don't know where we'll be in a few years, but I'm determined to preserve what little self-esteem I have left against her repressions.

I'm probably making more of this than what it seems from the outside. I know she cares.

If for nothing else, I want to fix this so I can live knowing that if my mom dies unexpectedly I won't have the panging guilt inside my head of knowing I did nothing to reach out. I guess I'm counting on my moving out to be the catalyst in this process.

Supposedly, distance makes the heart grow fonder...

Labels: arguments, family, fights, issues, mother, problems