lord of song
(and maybe there's a god above

but all i ever learned from love

was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you)



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successful in my quest for keeping her here
Posted on: Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Posted at: 4:52 PM
My mother had a talk with me today. Just.

):

I don't like our talks. I mean, our serious ones. The topic starts off lightly enough but they spurn into something altogether else. I don't like it not for the reasons you think, but because it's as if my mother is urgent to tell me something before she's...

And because she's usually not so serious. And when she's serious the topic becomes serious and so do I. I don't like being serious anymore. The world is too sad to take seriously. I'd rather be drunk and happy.

But now, I realize that happiness is the happiness you get from drugs, which I feel rightly ashamed of, and also that you can't find happiness and contentment without soberness.

Speaking of happiness.


The topic was along the lines of 'Do you really want to go back into piano?'

Reasons to say yes: I've played piano for years, on and off. Letting it go would be a waste.
And I want my mother to be proud of me.

Reasons to say no: I'm not certain I have that burning interest Mom and Kim have about this instrument.
Will I have the guts to stick with it?



The conversation was OK, (I stayed riveted for a reason I cannot phantom), she said I'd have time to think about it, but then it turned into something more...'What do you want to be?'

The word came out of my mouth leaving only the faintest trace of a thread of vague thought behind it: 'Successful.'

A few minutes later, I was regretting it a little bit. It implied that I was money-minded and ambitious, I wanted to say 'No Mom I also meant successful in my search for happiness, contentment and bliss,' but that's not really protocol when I am having long and serious conversations with my mom and I didn't want to interrupt.

'You know, I push you to instill a sense of discipline within you. When Papa and Mommy die, you'll be pretty much alone. You have no siblings. Sure, you have aunties and uncles but...'

I demanded to her, 'On my own?!', incredulously, as if I didn't know it, in my mind. Incredulously but silently. I cannot imagine that my mother would leave me alone. Alone. All by myself. No one close enough to lean on. Or close enough in that sense. Alone. I cannot imagine any one of my parents dying.

I love my mother. She can't go.

she can't.