written but not published on November 14 – Mama’s Birthday.
November 14 was your birthday, Ma. And we weren’t okay.
You said things I understood… but you didn’t understand mine.
I know I get angry easily, but every time we argue, I’m the one who lowers my pride, chooses understanding, and tries to keep peace even when it hurts me more than I admit.
But sometimes, it gets too heavy.
Sometimes I end up crying alone in my room, telling myself things I shouldn’t—things like wishing I could just disappear because it feels like none of you understand me. I’ve been trying to fix myself, trying to build who I want to become, but every time I try and fail, it feels like another part of me breaks. And I’m sorry.
Ma, I’m sorry you had to give birth to a daughter who often feels like she’s too much—too emotional, too sensitive, too loud, too misunderstood. I’m sorry if sometimes I think I’m ungrateful or difficult or a burden. I know those thoughts aren’t fair to me, but they come when I’m hurting.
I’m sorry I couldn’t greet you on your birthday.
But happy birthday, Mama.
I love you, whether I say it or not.
I thank God that you are my mother. Truly.
But sometimes I wish things were different. I wish our relationship didn’t feel so complicated. I wish I could talk to you the way I did when I was a child and you were my best friend. I’m still trying to rebuild that connection, even if I don’t know how anymore.
And here’s the truth—even when I hate myself, even when my thoughts get dark, I’m still here.
I’m still fighting.
I’m still choosing life, even when it’s painful.
Sometimes I wish you never gave birth to me—not because I don’t love you, but because I wish you had a simpler, fuller life. A life without the pain you went through. A life without the father I had. A life where your family was whole and uncomplicated, and you never had a child who felt broken sometimes.
And sometimes, Ma… I think about all the universes that could exist, all the versions of life that might have happened. And in some of those universes, I wish you didn’t have to be my mother — not because I don’t love you, but because I wish you had a life untouched by the pain, stress, and weight that came with raising me.
Sometimes I imagine a reality where you lived freely, where you never had to carry the struggles you went through, where you didn’t have to worry about a daughter who feels lost and overwhelmed.
It’s not that I don’t want you.
It’s that I don’t want to be a source of heaviness in your story.
And that’s a pain I’m still learning how to navigate.
But even with those thoughts, even with the hurt and confusion and distance, a part of me still knows:
in so many other universes, I would still choose you.
I just wish the version of me that you got was easier to love
I’m just tired. And hurt. And trying to survive my own mind.
I’m sorry, Ma.
I’m sorry to the whole family that sometimes I get so sad that all I think about is how to save myself from drowning in my own thoughts. I think about finding ways to escape the sadness without hurting myself or anyone else. And so far, I’m still here.
That has to mean something.
One day, when I graduate and get my license, I plan to live independently—not because I want to leave you, but because I want us all to breathe better. I want to become someone who can carry herself and finally take responsibility for her life without adding weight to anyone else.
I hope someday you understand me the way I’ve always tried to understand you. And I hope someday I finally understand myself too.
Hello, WordPress. I’m back.
It’s been a while since I last wrote anything here. A lot has happened, a lot has been felt, and there are so many things I couldn’t say out loud in real life… so I’m here again, trying to release the heaviness in a place that doesn’t judge me.
Shift Happens - SN chronicles 