My mom raised us as a single parent. Obviously I don’t need to tell or even begin to make one understand how difficult it was for her. And she raised us well. She raised us like a mother and a father combined.
Over the years she’s given us a lot of advice, but of these, lately I seem to remember only two.
- Don’t ever look back.
- If a boy tries do anything inappropriate, slap him hard. And raise hell.
I don’t know if her first advice was meant to be taken literally or figuratively but I have come to apply it in both ways. And it has helped me thus far. Except once. When I didn’t follow her advice and looked back. Literally. Figuratively.
I don’t want to blame my “youth” for my mistakes after all I made decisions with a sane mind. I looked back and I saw you moving away from me, literally and figuratively.
This very memory keeps replaying in my head like loop. In my bad times, in my good times, when for the very first time I didn’t listen to my mother.
You were walking me back home as usual, but then I didn’t know or maybe I did know it wasn’t really the regular walk back home with you. I should have sensed it but you were holding my hand and like I have told you a million times probably the moment you held my hand, only insanity prevailed in my head and all reason and judgement got clouded. You left me outside my house and I was feeling broken having just realized the magnitude of the situation: you were leaving me. There was a tiny sane part of me that knew this was the last time just as it had told me it was the last time when the last time you walked me home. But this time, I did something different. Because this time felt different. Each time you walked me back home I treated it as if it was the last time, but I never looked back at you when you left. But somehow that day I did. And I can never forget it nor forgive myself.
My insomnia is back. The crazy insomnia I used to have when I turned 12. Long before I lost both my fathers. I remember that insomnia. On top of that I remember it was before I thought it began. I have started to remember things from when I was 7. And it’s insane because I never can remember what I was doing 7 days ago.
The date was 5th November. I remember the time too. It was close to 8pm. I remember the tree, the street, the light, the cold air. I remember you. And I remember you never once looked back to check if I went inside. You never looked back. But I did.
I have had moments in my life when I thought I could take in pain as much as it was and I came out as a survivor, but in that moment, I knew I would never recover from this. I broke a cardinal rule: I went against my mother’s advice. I knew I was doomed to face the repercussions for ever long.