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Oh, it's me again.

I've posted here before. I will not say under what name nor will I give any identifying details. For too long I've worried that my previous post was going to catch up with me. My problem is my mother. She's meant to love you, right? You. Just you and not the idealised version of you. She's meant to love every fibre of your being simply because you are you and not the person who she met and compared her own daughter to. Not the person who has several well behaved children who have much more promising futures and who are obedient and dutiful and quiet and are essentially good little beings. Not someone who is simply one of the best examples of a good little Asian daughter and scurries everywhere because she is Asian, damn it! She ought to know her place and how to speak to elders. She ought to have every frigging recipe book lining the wardrobes memorised with something ready to whip up in half an hour so her mother can display her like a show pony in person and over the phone. "Oh, my daughter is subject to my every caprice! I simply sit and issue commands because simply being her mother grants me that RIGHT. She can cook a five course meal and was accepted for dentistry studies into Trinity, didn't you know?" . I am not that daughter, obviously. It is, according to my mother, my own self inflicted and gleefully chosen moral imperative to be as much of a failure as possible. I put up with everything, mother. What did I ever do to you? Why?

Story shared: 30/07/2014 16:48:15

#4536 View the comments about this story Tags: sadness - mother

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