Mother used to tie my hair every day. I sat in front of the mirror and she put my hair up in a baby ponytail. We both sat together and sang prayers to god. She taught me new and beautiful things about this world. But my mother always hid her pain.
Mother stopped tying my hair one day, so I learned to do it myself. She stopped singing prayers with me. Yet I still prayed to god. She stopped teaching me new things, so I had to take up the challenge and face the world myself. Mother started stating my flaws to me every day. I began to believe I wasn't good enough, yet I tried to please her as much as possible.
A day came when my mother, pulled my hair and clutched her hands on my throat. She pushed me to the floor and threw anything that her hands got, at me. And I thought I wasn't good enough. Mother stopped hiding her pain. The consequences of that, I had to bear.
Mother wasn't able to get rid of her pain. Not only that. She put her pain on me. She never apologised. But that doesn't mean I hate her. I love my mother, for she is a good human who made a few wrong choices.
I shall never be good enough for her, or maybe someday I will be, but at what cost?
