Crying in the Garden Centre

The title is inspired by one of my favorite memoirs, Crying in H-Mart by Michelle Zauner.


I find myself crying in places I least expect. Like in the middle of the garden centre.

If I have to come to terms with anything in the last 30 years, one of them would be that time can be cruel. It does not wait for anything or anyone, and it certainly does not wait for you. 

This past weekend was Mother's Day, and I particularly miss mine when I don't spend it with her. This year probably more than normal.
We share the love of flowers.
She called me weeping over the card I sent her, that I had filled with some heartfelt words. I kept it together for the whole 2 minute call, and as soon as we hung up, I also cried (whilst in Golden Acre garden centre). How humbling. 

On the flip, Father's Day is approaching too, and I will be pushing it fiercely away. It's funny, lately when people ask me about my parents, my more common response is "we don't talk about him". I truly find it comical, that those types of words are coming out of  my mouth. 
I had this very conversation with my lash girl (the day I write this) - but with anyone, I brush it off pretty quickly. I keep it a goal to make it brief.

My mom has told me, "we  must forgive. Not for them, but for ourselves. For our peace. In time".
She said some other things in her Filipino way. I'll be lucky if I'm a sliver of the woman she is, and I'm always learning from her. I hope she knows just how much I think of her, and how much light she brings. I sure don't tell her enough.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

But You're Still White..

 And oh how I wish I could erase it.  How much strength would it take to push it away, push it down? How much pain would it inflict to strip it from myself, from the inside out? How hard should I scrub to get this layer off of me? How much wealth would I have from the amount of people that tell me You're still white.  Have I talked about my proximity enough?  Have I talked about my privilege enough? Have I talked about my resentment enough? You're still white. It's never, do you identify as white? It's never, are you connected to your Caucasian background? I was born into a western society, and so I live accordingly. Held by both bigoted cuffs and resignation. Constraints I viewed as real, rules that felt like binding contracts I didn't even realize I signed. Whose hand was it that held the pen? From all the time I absorbed other people, shaped myself to who they saw, accepted that this was what I was supposed to be. I swallowed their words You're still white. N...
Read more

Feeling Like a Ping Pong Ball

 I've had a lot of conversations lately that swirl around what I pathetically describe as a "reckoning".  I have talked to a few people in my life surrounding having to reflect so much on my past and childhood racial issues - this reflection stemming from my parents divorce and accompanying shame of having a white father who didn't hold space for other parts of me (us). I have these constant thoughts of if my dad hadn't done the things he did, I wouldn't have had this figurative mirror placed in front of me. Maybe I wouldn't have to work through all of this now.  Discussing how exhausting it is to always be explaining myself and who I am because it doesn't fit the person's idea of me that they've prematurely constructed. Reiterating that I am Filipino, with a period, and that's the only thing I want to need to tell someone. Perpetually just wanting it to be enough. How I feel like the ball in a game of ping pong - being tossed around from e...
Read more

SAD

SAD feels like a deep aching in my chest  Something lodged so far there's no pulling it out  Even when I try to ease my figurative hand in I can't reach it No matter how hard or loud I cry  It won't shake it, doesn't rattle it Despite how tightly I wrap my arms around my ribcage  It won't pop it out of place I recall being a sunshine girl  Such a different version of myself  And I wonder where the hell she went Where the sun went  Why is it too easy  To allow myself  To leave  Eventually the ache subsides but I know it's still in there It comes back, in the darkness of the spaces my mind preoccupies  I lay in bed grasping for warmth Hoping the layers that I cover my head with  Might save me, maybe this time  But it always finds a way between the sheets Sometimes I long for someone to pick up this weight  If merely fleetingly  Yet I ask myself  If anyone could truly lift it  Am I the cookie in the cup...
Read more