My mom had been my strongest supporter. I did not seem to see it before, but she certainly is.
You see, I grew up in a household of parents believing primarily in intrinsic gratification. We were never really told to be smart, or beautiful, or awesome growing up. Just having to see them smile, nod, and on very frequent occasions of optimal parental pride, hugs and kisses were gratification in its purest form for me. But those were it, no material rewards, no outward praise, those were the only rewards me and my brother ever had. From my point of view, those tiny gestures meant the world.
So, when I was introduced into a household practicing otherwise, it came as the most overwhelming culture shock of my life. I suddenly saw how different kids raised in contrast to how I was were. Confident, always geared towards the arts and highly sociable. At this point, it would not take a genius to conclude how very different him and I were raised. His family, in all their glory, taught me to look at the world in a very different manner. I, for the very first time in my life, felt extremely and most obviously, gratified. Something that I have grown unto. Over the years, I learned how extremely invigorating dinner/ lunch-outs with the family were, something that I'd rarely experience from my own household. I enjoyed time hanging out with his dad on weekends watching local folks bands, something my own dad can't afford due to his usual nocturnal shifts at work. And it was that significantly spent one-hour mass, that got the most of me. I had a second family, and they were the bomb.
But on the day the bomb dropped on me like Hiroshima on a fine afternoon, no one else felt the damage more than the people that I have overlooked for the past 8 years. It took me a while to tell my Mom. I was initially afraid that she'd pull-off her usual nag of "An attitude like yours? You should have seen that coming!" [that statement would sound totally different in our vernacular, but you get the gist]. Three days, three days of having to fake a smile during meals, of having to wear my sunglasses a tad bit early before kissing her goodbye for work, of having to tell my own mom that "I'm okay". It took me three days to at least show her (mostly myself) that I am a fighter. Upon finally breaking down (for the very first fucking time!) on my mother's arms, she told that she already knew the second I came home late that weary Tuesday night. She was, after all, the bearer of all my primordial emotions.
And, for the very first time in my life, she had finally declared some sort of extrinsic praise. She didn't tell me how pretty I was or smart I was that I could get any the guy in the world to crumble at my feet; nor did she ever say how unworthy he was of me or how he'd eventually regret having leave me, no. She told me something that had me going through since day one:
"You are strong."
But of course, all her other statement I best keep on discreet, but yes.
I remembered a friend at work ask me who my best friend was, in an instant, I answered "Godo and Mommy". I guess I had misunderstood the question after all.
Singularity.
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