Mom, will you be my best friend?

Khaleej Times
Opinion / Editor's Choice

4 June 2012

From the diary of a teenager…

It’s exactly a month since I left home. A month since I left the nest that held me safe within its confines from the time the stork left me at my parents’ doorstep 15 years ago. I remember the day when dad and mom made the announcement of my going to the boarding school for higher studies. I resisted it in all ways I could – sulked, wept, pleaded, threatened and threw tantrums. But they showed no mercy. “We cannot leave you huge bank balances. A good education is all that we can give for you to build a life of your own, to make your dreams come true,” they explained.

Do I really have a dream to fulfill? I don’t know, but they believe so, and they have led me to a path that they think will take me to my destination, whatever and wherever it is. I didn’t believe that they could let me go so easily to be in a strange new place where the food was more like fodder, the rules were unbending and the lady called the matron was less of a human and more of an ogress. Did they really want to push me into such hell just because they thought I had a dream to pursue? It made me think that they merely wanted me out of their life; it made me hate them for imposing on me what they thought was ‘for my good.’ What good could there be for me outside of home?
The days leading up to my departure were awfully grim. I felt like a death row inmate waiting for D-day. I was mad and angry that no one even let out a whimper at my going away. No one thought it was avoidable. It made me depressed to think that I was not indispensible. I was certain that there was no love left for me in the house until we reached the airport and it was time for me to actually say adieu.

Suddenly, I saw the dark cloud of sorrow sweep their faces and the restrained emotion in their farewell hugs. When mom held me close and gave me a squeeze, I held my breath. Mom had never before been so forthcoming with her emotions. In that instant, I knew that mom had something special to tell me. I could read it in her eyes, and when mom slipped an envelope into my bag asking me to open it after they left, my heart missed a beat. Later, I wept reading it.

I now read the note almost every day. It reassures me of her love, which had lain unexpressed in her heart all these years. What a shame that I had always thought that mom didn’t love me! But how could I not? She always returned exhausted from work, and had no time for me. I never had her beside me to discuss my school or friends, never around for me to share my problems and secrets. We always argued over things she described as “not done” leading to revolts and revulsions. To me mom was just a family monitor.

What do you tell someone who after all these years suddenly comes around brimming with such sentiments that I never thought existed between us? It took fifteen years for me to be convinced that mom loved me dearly. I wish she had expressed it more often. I wish she had held me close like she did at the airport more often. I wish she was with me when I needed her, as a friend, a confidante.

I don’t want to write anything in reply to her. When I go home next, I will probably ask her, “Mom, will you be my best friend for life?”