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𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝟎𝟐.

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𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝟎𝟐.

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𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝟎𝟏. Monday, January 19th, 1987. We got the news today that my biological mother has passed on. I’m not sure who or what I’m mourning, all I know is that there’s an ache in my chest that I can’t quite smoke out. Perhaps it’s the loss of what could have been, or perhaps it’s another daunting reminder of the woman who let my fate unfold the way it did. For years, I’ve struggled to piece together a version of the mother that I wanted her to be, wanted to meet - how her face might fold when hearing my questions, a tear or two when met with the child she so easily let go of all those years ago. I always prayed there might be tears, that she might have felt anger or resentment for her actions, but the radio silence for the last however many decades tells another story entirely. I don’t think I’d be so angry if I had been the last one. If finances had been too much for my family to conquer, or if the mental toll of having more than seven children forced my mother into an emotional turmoil, but knowing that I’m not the youngest, not by a mile, still makes my heart hurt - even now. Her death, I’ve come to realize, is bringing up all those feelings once again. Feelings of inadequacy, loneliness and isolation are all ones that I thought I had come to terms with decades ago. This proves that maybe I haven’t done such a good job. I often wonder what it is about me that people find so easy to neglect. Was I not pretty enough? Not mannerly enough? I know the reality is much different, but in times like this, I struggle to separate my thoughts from what is true. Perhaps I’m mourning because any other reaction would brand me as heartless - but that’s not what I am. My children are almost grown now and there’s no point in time that I could have ever let them go forever. That’s not heartless. They resent me for my cold front, I know that, but I love them all unconditionally, even if I’m not sure how to show it. No one ever taught me how to love as openly. Displays of affection of any kind were frowned upon at home. The longing I felt for any kind of embrace was quickly put to rest with the rest of my emotions. I often wondered if my ability to run cold was something I inherited from my mother, but even Mama said I favored my father in more ways than one - yet he’s another faceless man among the sea of blurry memories, but he’s still alive. There’s still time to patch up an old wound, but I’m not so sure I want to. I fear the rejection that might come from reaching out to him, or to my brothers and sisters. In spite of all this, I find myself repeating the motions with my own girls simply out of discomfort. Their needs are ones I fear I cannot meet and I hope that when the day comes that they learn of my death, they’ll have nicer things to say. I also hope that by the time they start families of their own, that I’ll have been able to rewrite my wrongs as a mother and offer the support that I never got. I hope they don’t feel the same inadequacy that I feel. I hope I haven’t failed them, yet.

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Sasha Pieterse as Alison DiLaurentis on Pretty Little Liars: The Perfectionists; 1.04“The Ghost Sonata”

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the fact that i am constantly saying strange and unpleasant things is just part of my charm

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alison dilaurentis + glasses pretty little liars: the perfectionists 1x01: ‘pilot’

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©

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The Proposal (2009) dir. Anne Fletcher

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Higher Learning (1995) dir. John Singleton

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why is barbie’s the nutcracker the only good film adaption of the nutcracker that has ever been made

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Shall we just have a cigarette on it?

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what do u mean i don’t have a social life I just went grocery shopping with my mom

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#About me