The other day, my mom and I got into a huge fight. It pains me to write about it on something so public, but I wish we can talk about these things without getting into an argument or having to bring up history. I have no one to talk about this who understands my pain. And I don’t want to be a burden to anyone by forcing my problems into them.
I realized that I was jealous. I realized that it hurts to see you care for my brother so much but fail to make me feel the same way. It hurts to hear that you’ll be there in a blink when he needs aid, but will accompany your help to me with a bowlful of sermon first. Or if you don’t, would bring up a help from so long ago and remind me that you didn’t mention a thing.
It pains me, that the first thing you would bring up this morning, was about how hurt my brother was to the words I said, but it seems you didn’t even feel a thing when I was crying my eyes out during our fight telling you of all my pains, and worries, and jealousy. You brought up how he mentioned of his sacrifices for the family too. But the thing is, I’m not ridding him of that credit, I do thank him for all that. But I have one question, what about my sacrifices? Why is he allowed to bring up something so old, but I can’t during any of our arguments? Why is it that I can’t remind you of the things you did wrong and that you won’t admit without getting into a bigger fight than it already is? It wasn’t even the point of discussion. I was all about fairness. And what did you tell me? Because we’re girls so we have to? What kind of logic is that?
I maybe was irrational for bringing those up. For shouting to the world that my brother doesn’t help in any chore or that he lacks skills to do better in his career or that everyone seems required to care for him more than he cares for himself. Maybe it was rude to tell an open secret while he’s in the other room nudged from his sleep from my voice of anger. I wish I could take back what I said because I love him too, but honestly, I rather not. We’ve been close for so long and our childish fights are over. But we never talk about these things because our ideas oppose, just like ours. He feels otherwise on the favoritism part.. like he’d admit it was true. But the fact that everyone seem to love him more crushes me with a lot more pressure than my simple cries. How my dad would talk to him endlessly and set me aside when just a moment ago we were talking as if I’m his only child. It hurts a lot. When I told my brother that while I was hurt in tears, he only said “may mga advantage lang talaga mga panganay.” Well, what do I get then? The scraps and spill from their love for you if there’s even any? Can’t I even get anything whole for once?
It hurts that much. Because you’re my mother. But it doesn’t feel that way because you never seem to understand my struggles. I hate the fact that I hurt you or shout out you whenever an argument is raised, but I can’t bear the pain anymore because it’s left unsolved and it piles up every time and I can’t do a thing.
I don’t want to believe that he’s the favorite son. Because fathers are supposed to get princesses called daddy’s girl, and mothers aren’t supposed to have favorites because her children came from the same place. But it really makes me think so.
I decided to keep silent and open up my blog to type these things instead of letting it out. It’s not even 7am, and a fight this early would ruin everyone’s day. And I know if I say another thing about how my brother is your favorite, it’ll just lead on to another fight when the former one wasn’t finished. And I hate that I don’t have anyone to bug about these things. I’m breaking down, for the nth time in a month, for the same reason.
You’re sitting in front of me, but I’m hiding my face from my laptop’s screen and the dim of the room. Hiding my tears and my sobs from the sound of my clogged nose and colds. I’m not sure if you really just don’t notice, or choose to ignore in hopes of not making it into something bigger. But a part of me wishes you notice and just hug me without saying a thing. But you didn’t. And again, it hurts.
Last night, my migraine attacked. I stayed on my bed and I’m sure my sister would notice me in pain and tell you. I was tempted to exaggerate the pain, to shout your name and call your aid, just so you’ll rush into the room and comfort me on whatever ridiculous request I have. But I told myself it was a very desperate and immature move. I believe she told you because you knew when I went out of the room, but you didn’t even bother getting up and checking on me to see if I was even half okay.
When we get into fights, I know just what to say if I wanted to hurt you. But I try my best to control the urge to let that out because I don’t want that kind of pain and I’m sure you wouldn’t too. But I really hope that somehow, you will come to realize what I mean, because in these moments there’s nothing better than a mother’s love… but where can I get that if you’re the cause of all these tears and pain to begin with?
Mom, if you read this.. can you not talk to me about it, come to me or explain or anything. Just not say a thing, pretend it wasn’t me and just move on? I don’t want to cry again.
Daily Prompt – Millions