Recently in an argument with my mom over what she thinks is the best for me and what i want for myself in life, i said i have always considered my parents’ wishes in the decisions i made.
If I didnt, maybe the old leican will still want to be an english major and study english literature. she will read shakespeare and laugh at how certain plays are overrated. she will figure out how to write poems in traditional english, and get stuck at that last line to make it complete. she was very good at penning down the start but never the end.
she will still think about the magic in poems, how one of the most romantic things a boy can do for a girl is to write her a poem. she will want to read all the books on her list. etc
but i have learned to live differently.
i seek compromises among all the factors i need to consider. it gives me a lot more balance and security.
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i was reading a post on thought catalog. i havent been reading in a long time but i love reading these kind of thought-provoking, yet short and casual writings. it’s been a while since something’s moved me to tears, or rather made me feel that kind of sadness.
i remember that year when things were just crashing down on me, bridges burned. that day when i was washing the dishes at home and the moment i heard the door click and my parents were out, i couldnt hold it in anymore and i just cried. it wasnt even the bawling kind of crying, but it was the worst. so much was built up inside someone who never knew how to cry but the tears just could not be held in anymore.
i remember that stupid poem inspired by that december night.
i remember the other stupid poems written about something we spent hours arguing about and they were basically nothing we were talking about.
i remember, when i was 18, i was so harmless towards people that it cost me a portion of the future i could have.
and now that im turning 22, i have learnt how to cry, though not quite appropriately. i have matured, but i havent become much cleverer.
this time, i hope my poem finds its way back to me.
