You never realise how much you cling on to your parents until the little things show up. These little things, they are the biggest sign that your life is changing. It's always those little things that make you realise the big things in life. That split second, that almost negligible moment of your life, that insignificant (are you sure?) little portion of the time axis, it is that which triggers the significant thought train in your brain (that rhymes!) at the end of which you realise you're not that person anymore.
Something like that happened to me recently.I shopped. Insignificant, is it not? Not for me. I'm 18 and, to share a secret (not anymore) with you, until 2 days ago, I hadn't gone shopping for clothes without my mother. If I went with my friends, I'll either not buy anything or my mother will be with us. I always look to her for fashion advice. I don't buy clothes that she shuns (and the number of things that I liked and she's shunned!) or doesn't feel is good enough a deal however pretty I look in it. Our shopping is something like this: we both look for things that I might like, I do the next round of screening, my mother does the next, the size issue is the next filter, finally the price tag and voila, the process is complete! That was our ritual every single time. I'd gotten so used to this that I accepted this as part of my life that'll never change, like breathing. I didn't realise how vulnerable this little ritual of ours was to change.
At this point, you would think the normal thing to do would be to type in how I felt shopping for myself. But before that, new character, the brother. Long story short, my parents decide to live with my brother for 6 months, several thousand miles away from their little daughter who, unknown to her so far, will be thrown into the world of shopping for herself.
Now, the shopping for myself. I went shopping with a friend of mine. Which is very smart of me considering how helpless I am when faced with the question of fashion. The shopping ritual remained the same. Only my friend replaced my mother. I didn't feel very bad about it then. I felt rather responsible and grown up buying things for myself, paying bills and making transactions without adult supervision. Oh right, I keep forgetting, adults don't need adult supervision! I flaunted my new purchase to the rest of my friends. And then, technology chipped in, and I flaunted it to my family through WhatsApp. Message sent from here, received over there and reply comes through. My father and my brother were almost unimportant parts of our shopping ritual, so skipping their responses, my mother's response was thus: Romba nalla irukku! (It's very nice!)
That was it. That was my split second. That was my moment of realisation. I went shopping and my mother wasn't there. For the longest time, I didn't know if I was feeling happy being grown up or if I was feeling sad for, ironically, the same reason. And then I realised I was sad. I didn't want the ritual to change. I've always wanted to be a Mama's Girl, my Mama's Girl. I didn't want this responsibility. I just wanted to go to a shop and argue with my mother over clothes one of us didn't like, see the look in her face when we both agree, grin with happiness together when it fits me, discuss seriously the price tag, agree unanimously over the buying status of the clothes, walk out of the store, satisfied or unsatisfied, together. I miss doing that. As much as I dislike shopping, I like shopping with my mother because I somehow feel like her little child again.
My mother tells me whatever happens I will always be her little girl. But most of the time I don't feel that way. Somewhere along my 18 years, I lost that feeling. I let go of the feeling of being my Mama's Girl for the feeling of being my own girl. I exchanged a walk-on part in a war for a lead role in a cage.
Is it too late to go back? I think so. I don't mind, I think, as long as I can still find enough time to go back to being my Mama's Girl everytime I miss that feeling, even for the shortest time.
I don't say this enough to her (or I tell this in a forum that she can't access that often, for reasons unknown) but being her little girl is the best thing to have happened to me. Everything else in my life is an offshoot of this one thing, being my parents' daughter. I'm grateful to them both and being in a hostel so far away from them (so far, I just can't see), this feeling has magnified itself and kept me up so late so that I can finish typing this blog out.
Arthi.
Something like that happened to me recently.I shopped. Insignificant, is it not? Not for me. I'm 18 and, to share a secret (not anymore) with you, until 2 days ago, I hadn't gone shopping for clothes without my mother. If I went with my friends, I'll either not buy anything or my mother will be with us. I always look to her for fashion advice. I don't buy clothes that she shuns (and the number of things that I liked and she's shunned!) or doesn't feel is good enough a deal however pretty I look in it. Our shopping is something like this: we both look for things that I might like, I do the next round of screening, my mother does the next, the size issue is the next filter, finally the price tag and voila, the process is complete! That was our ritual every single time. I'd gotten so used to this that I accepted this as part of my life that'll never change, like breathing. I didn't realise how vulnerable this little ritual of ours was to change.
At this point, you would think the normal thing to do would be to type in how I felt shopping for myself. But before that, new character, the brother. Long story short, my parents decide to live with my brother for 6 months, several thousand miles away from their little daughter who, unknown to her so far, will be thrown into the world of shopping for herself.
Now, the shopping for myself. I went shopping with a friend of mine. Which is very smart of me considering how helpless I am when faced with the question of fashion. The shopping ritual remained the same. Only my friend replaced my mother. I didn't feel very bad about it then. I felt rather responsible and grown up buying things for myself, paying bills and making transactions without adult supervision. Oh right, I keep forgetting, adults don't need adult supervision! I flaunted my new purchase to the rest of my friends. And then, technology chipped in, and I flaunted it to my family through WhatsApp. Message sent from here, received over there and reply comes through. My father and my brother were almost unimportant parts of our shopping ritual, so skipping their responses, my mother's response was thus: Romba nalla irukku! (It's very nice!)
That was it. That was my split second. That was my moment of realisation. I went shopping and my mother wasn't there. For the longest time, I didn't know if I was feeling happy being grown up or if I was feeling sad for, ironically, the same reason. And then I realised I was sad. I didn't want the ritual to change. I've always wanted to be a Mama's Girl, my Mama's Girl. I didn't want this responsibility. I just wanted to go to a shop and argue with my mother over clothes one of us didn't like, see the look in her face when we both agree, grin with happiness together when it fits me, discuss seriously the price tag, agree unanimously over the buying status of the clothes, walk out of the store, satisfied or unsatisfied, together. I miss doing that. As much as I dislike shopping, I like shopping with my mother because I somehow feel like her little child again.
My mother tells me whatever happens I will always be her little girl. But most of the time I don't feel that way. Somewhere along my 18 years, I lost that feeling. I let go of the feeling of being my Mama's Girl for the feeling of being my own girl. I exchanged a walk-on part in a war for a lead role in a cage.
Is it too late to go back? I think so. I don't mind, I think, as long as I can still find enough time to go back to being my Mama's Girl everytime I miss that feeling, even for the shortest time.
I don't say this enough to her (or I tell this in a forum that she can't access that often, for reasons unknown) but being her little girl is the best thing to have happened to me. Everything else in my life is an offshoot of this one thing, being my parents' daughter. I'm grateful to them both and being in a hostel so far away from them (so far, I just can't see), this feeling has magnified itself and kept me up so late so that I can finish typing this blog out.
Arthi.
