In Mom's company

Dear readers,
theokwek has delayed the publication of his travel journal by first sending us (under a fake email account, of course) an essay about the relationship between his mother and he. A touching story indeed, and worth a thorough read. However, before i published this post i asked theokwek whether he thought this would cause his readers to call him a MAMA's boy, and he replied saying that all boys are, at heart, their Mama's beloved.
the Straight Times Editor

At thirteen, I suppose I am entering my rebellious teenage years – the famed, much-talked-about bizarre age of youth, where growth runs wild, innovations defeats discipline, and man explores new and creative options of life. It is the age when we have, according to both those who are younger and older than us, the most ideas and the most stamina to carry these ideas out. It is also the age of parties and gatherings, of projects and schoolwork, of ambitions and hopes, of discouragement and disability. Last but not least, it is the age of rebellion against parents.

However, I have found that during this time, I’ve gotten to love and appreciate Mom a lot more. Don’t get me wrong. We do quarrel a lot sometimes. Here’s an example of one such skirmish. As it goes along, it should be quite obvious which voice belongs to whom.

“Don’t keep stamping your feet when you’re practicing your violin!”
“But I have to let off my frustration somewhere. I can’t let it off on the violin, right?”
“What frustration?”
“You won’t know if you aren’t a violinist. You know I get frustrated at myself when I keep making mistakes, don’t you?”
“Stop getting so frustrated can or not?”
“I’m not getting frustrated at you, so why are you still so angry?”

These arguments, though, often end with me saying “Whatever!” and conceding defeat, or just keeping quiet and giving the cold shoulder for the rest of the afternoon. Still, we do make up afterwards with a cordial “Love you, Mom!” and “Love you, Dear!”

I do think this is also the age that we begin to mature, and reflect on our own thoughts and actions a lot more. I can clearly remember in the past week many instances of looking back on my childhood and muttering to myself words such as “So childish!” or the like.

This reflection does pull us out of many a dire conflict. After many quarrels I will just sit on the armchair, or bed, or work-chair and breathe deeply, thinking about the past uncivil conversations and work out not so much who was right, which sometimes will open a Pandora’s box of mental struggle, but more on questions like what can I do next time. Quite often, I find myself realizing that the infamously motherly phrase “it’s for your own good” is from the heart of every mother and not just pushed into the dialogue to make us feel bad. The thing is, at this age, we tend to have built a concrete concept of what’s for our own good and what isn’t. Thus when what Mom says goes in the opposite direction of our preconceived and sometimes childish ideas, we freeze up like a chemical reaction and utter bitingly stupid words.

At times when our words aren’t that sour, I’ve often asked Mom about everything under the sun, including her childhood, her rebellious years, her choice of profession and anything and everything else. She also asks about my school, how my teachers are, how my friends are, whether my friends have started taking a liking to girls and who they like, but most of the time the conversations comes to “How about you?”. Though I confess that I don’t always tell all, I, like many other boys, have come to enjoy her closeness and advice.

And that’s why, even if Mom’s busy cooking dinner or hanging out the clothes, having tea in the kitchen where she works is oft a blessing. And I love her for that.