The other day my mom asked me how I could be so cold. For a moment, I thought it was just a rhetorical question, and she was trying to be funny. But she was cold serious (pun intended).
Her eyes reflected disappointment. And it was understandable. If there’s someone who has always had her heart, her arms, her home open for others, it’s my mother. So I can understand how it was difficult for her to come to terms with the fact that she had raised a daughter who is a complete opposite of what she is the epitome of.
Even I don’t know what went wrong.
But I do know one thing: I used to care a lot. A lot. Maybe more than I should. And that did change. I started disliking being me. And out came the callous Me.
How am I callous when I am in tears typing this? A part never seen by anyone.