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Life Stories,  Travel

Thoughts on Nostalgia (Her name is Mother)

You look at her and see arrogance. She was the most unattached, independent, ready for action girl you ever knew. Best if the action was far away from her home. She was always ready to go. She was stupidly frank about her relationship with the family. She never loved them much. There was never room for thought of them on her travels. All the years of suppressed rancor, anger, depression which went unnoticed, have made her feel numb. Now, far away, at the age of 25, she could forgive them everything.

View from our balcony in District 3, Saigon

Today, with the whole world between her and all she knew, she was faced with the greatest enemy – herself. After hours and days of uninterrupted introspection, the cathartic answer finally revealed itself. At last, she did not feel guilty. She understood that she was never taught to love them, at least not openly, or honestly. The world she lived in made her grow-up unable to say, “Volim te” (I love you) in her own language. Once she realized it, it haunted her, the emptiness, the words she could never say without pain, and more anger. She loved her country, and her people, the history, the culture, but always followed by a never-ending list of annotations on the forbidden, taboo and frowned upon. The years of feeling guilty for her emotions, ashamed by her opinions and fearful of the future created a hard shell of a person. Her every word was brimming with sarcasm. The love itself, was it also sarcastic? The society made her doubt every thought that did not conform. She got fed up; she packed her bags, she lied, she lied so well, and they left.

If you looked at her now, far away, broken, you would see the fear masked as strength. It’s been years since someone took care of her.

Waiting for the end of day

She was standing on the terrace earlier that day, thinking about her mother, scared that she might not have her for many years more. She dreamt of her childhood bed, mom’s pizza on the weekends and being woken up by a person and not an alarm. She dreamt of her mother, that champion of women, whom she never complimented because she was never taught to, and because the public display of emotion scared her. She often sarcastically remarked, she didn’t want to spoil mother with compliments. Looking at the familiar skyline of a still unfamiliar city, she cried for her mom. The home was so far away, a great number of flights, and even greater of hours; all she could do was cry.

Sunset over Saigon

She called mother later that day, feigning indifference, but secretly needing to talk about all the little things she usually called stupid. After the call ended, she admitted to herself; she missed home! In the night above the city in which constant noise washes out every other sound at every moment, she sang her favourite song from primary school. Through the teary eyes, she could almost see the familiar sights of home and her mountain. It’s hardest being honest with things that really matter.In her heart, she knew; she needed to leave in order to return.

Hi, thanks for making it till the end! 🙂 Did you like my story? Make sure to leave your comments below.

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