Letting Go of the Mould

Letting Go of the Mould

We think we will be—

all that our parents were and more to our kids.

So when Myra was born,

I was set, she and I would have the mother-daughter bond

that I  never had with Ma.

While my friends lamented

about broken relationships, hormonal swings, peer pressure with their mothers, 

I was charting unknown waters, alone.

I missed mopping with Ma,

missed being silly around her.

And don’t get me wrong—

I was pampered, spoiled, loved immensely by ma,

but somehow,

we could never be each other’s confidants.

So, when Myra came into my life,

I followed my heart,

chasing this eternal desire

to be her best friend,

her confidant,

her conscious keeper.

Someone who understands her mood swings

without course-correcting.

Someone who indulges her silly.

Oh, what a journey it’s been!

We are nothing alike, you see—

I wear my heart on my sleeve,

she tucks hers away.

I live by action,

she by reflection.

I run on a clock,

she loses track of time.

Add to that the generational gap!

I have tried to learn Insta,

even tried to see the good in it!

My new vocabulary has rizz, slay, sigma, delulu.

I look at puberty through her eyes

instead of dismissing it with,

“I’ve been through it too!”

I’ve been more considerate

than I ever thought I could be.

Yet, in all this,

I still yearn for the relationship I missed with Ma—

and regret missing both the busses.

I blamed myself for not doing enough,

but slowly, I realized the folly lay elsewhere.

I had made a preset mould for this relationship,

expected it to grow within its rigid walls,

deprived it of any other dimension,

limiting its course to the path chosen by me

Maybe ignoring what Myra yearned from us.

This realization is new,

but I hope it stays—

that I may let go of the mould,

flow like water,

and see where this journey takes Myra and me