no one will ever love me the way you do and yet here i am, fueling resentment upon your name using a body that was once a part of you.

but love aligns with hatred. sometimes i wondered if you ever had a hard time defining which one is which. when the war broke, or when dad left, or when you stood there beside my bed with a knife in your hand. i wonder if you ever see yourself in the mirror and mourn for all the loss you had to endure just to turn 32. but to endure is what a woman is fit for, you told me. you told yourself. so you kept both our mouths shut and continued carrying the weight of the world. i was too young, don't you think?

on my 11th birthday, you took me to the top of the hill outside the clearing. your eyes travel far to the outskirts of the city. then you pressed your palm to my chest. "aren't you glad to be alive?" well, are you? even you, who worship God in its glory, silently believe that death is a monster who whispers promises of eternal solace. we couldn't help it, can't we Ma? there's no greater salvation than not having to be born in this world. that being said, i hope you understand why my anger towards you shall be deathless. you brought me here to rot.

you brought me here to be tamed. to be chained down to the ground all covered up in a veil and have them watch as i lash out like a wounded animal. i am, a wounded animal Ma. this isn't what i wanted. i'd rather lose your respect than having to lose my dignity. my worth is so much more than that. 

and despite all that Ma, we exist as wretched mirrors of each other; i am all you could have been and you are all i might be. i can curse you all i want. i can declare to the world that we're going to be different. i'm not going to lead a life as miserable as yours. i won't let anyone dictate the way i thrive. i can carve those words in the ears of hundreds and yet it doesn't erase the fact that i am a woman too. that we both had the same blood in our veins. that our skeleton is identical. that we were walking the same path. that when i stood there in front of the guillotine, the men underneath me will try to peek under my gown too. that when my blood came gushed down, they'll fill their cups and toss them into the air with glorious faces. 

my rage was once yours. and it once belong to your mother too (you had told me that she lost herself right after she turned 30. after all that beating, i wouldn't be surprised). it once belonged to the old women who lived in the corner of the street (do you remember how they had stoned her to death after accusing her of performing witchcraft?). it once belonged to the young girl we met in the market before it closed down (they found her in the drain the next morning, all naked and bruised. i heard blood were still dripping from her legs when they brought her body to her mother). 

you never taught me how to fight back and pull the trigger. but no one ever taught you to do that either. you forced my bare feet to walk upon the thorny garden only because they had forced you to do the same. you told me that the water filling our lungs is nothing to be afraid of. 'an undying redemption' you had explained it to me with the same phrase your mother used.

Ma, i wish there was a way to let you know how my heart had broke and reassembles itself upon your presence. i couldn't even properly hate you. i pity those eyes and realize how it reflect mine. what am i supposed to do Ma? i want you to go down on your knees and plead for my forgiveness. and yet i want to cut my chest open and offer my beating heart for your penance. i loathe how you keep wanting more and more of me. and yet i crave for every tiny form of approval you gave to me so very kindly. 

be brave for me Ma.  pull the trigger for me. tell me that i can let my grip go anytime i want. tell me that you'll be my anchorage. for you are not a monster; you are a mother. 

you are my mother, Ma.