ALMOST
The saddest word in the English Language
I want to hate you, but 21 years of conditioned love has made me dumb down the word to dislike, used occasionally with caution to my surroundings. When you force-fed me your beliefs and manipulated me into tiny versions of yourselves, I changed the words to spoon-feed and suggestions, something I didn't really have to do if I didn't want to. How was I to know what I wanted when I was a child? At 21, the only things that I know for sure that I want, is for you to accept this version of me that has gone through so many updates, but sadly your data is slow to the point that all the updates fail, leaving you with the original, the one you wanted, the one that stayed constant, the one that made you download it in the first place.
So here I am, coming clean, having the talk I have been waiting to have with you, hoping that you understand me the way I have you.
If you ask me to pinpoint a certain event or time when all of this started I would think for eternity and not come up with an answer, thus cutting this conversation short, which is probably what you want in the first place. I'm not giving you the satisfaction of tricking me into turning on my usual overthinking mode.
My transformation into the imperfect daughter was so gradual that you never noticed the girl you raised turn into something else. But it was also hidden behind the veil you forced me to wear, so how could you have seen this coming? I can't go back under that veil again, but what I can do, without setting the nerves in my brain to overdrive, is tell you about the instances where that veil slipped.
Mom, I love you more than dad (If you think that's unfair and untrue think about the favourite child that you never disclosed. Don't worry; I don't begrudge you for the lies. I'm sure it's nothing compared to my own). Following that truthful confession it was only to be expected that I would confide in you first, without going for a strategically planned family meeting where we sit down respectfully and argue our points, each one convinced they are right.
None of what I was about to do was planned in any way. Like all strong emotions they manifested themselves in one moment of fleeting fury. Thinking back to it now, I don't remember any information about the quarrel that I had with you, dad. I can, however recollect every point in my life where I have been mad at you (it's an innumerable amount). At one such point, I was sulking in my bedroom and you, mom, who is the peacemaker between us comes in to talk for an hour or so by which time both of us would have calmed down and made up, if only to escape from your endless lecturing. But, this time was different because I was sure about my feelings related to religion and I'd practiced the speech too many times in the mirror for it to not flow naturally. Maybe, it was because my sister was there, or maybe because you needed to grow more as a person to accept the truth staring at your face, you started to talk about helping me find my way back into faith. Here I was, trying to tell you that such a road never existed for me and you were talking about covering the tulips that I'd grown there with tar so as to create one. Once I realised that you would never give up on building that road, I backed down to protect the tulips. They'd grown to full bloom and I intended on growing more once they faded.
College is an experience I can never fully explain. Being far away from ready-made thoughts made me manufacture more of my own and it was a process I grew to love, so much that I started wondering how I had ever survived on the borrowed ones. The college being far from home also meant that I had a certain freedom and responsibility that I didn't want to shake off. The journey of self-realisation that people seldom take through their lives reaches a peak during this period.
In front of you, I kept up the charade, pulled the veil tighter and pretended like everything was fine. I listened to your advice, made up excuses for not picking up your calls and acted as though cutting that call didn't give me the biggest relief every single day.
YOU ARE READING
Confessions of an Imperfect Daughter
General FictionFor all those people struggling with family identity and restrictions, I hope that my experiences provide some solace to yours. Rule no 1: Wise man is a general term that I use for all the people, other than my mom and dad, who have given me knowled...