I had hesitations on whether I should post this or not. Right after that moment, I already had the idea of writing this, but the emotions were still too fresh that time, and the strong, disorganized feelings and thoughts might just create an icky, vomit-like composition, so I decided to wait until I'm finally in the right mind to write this conversation down coherently.
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I was using the PC, checking Facebook when my mom walked up to me and said, "Hey, I gotta check my FB for a while and see if my sister left any messages."
I was feelin' shitty from school that day, so with an irate face and a heavy grunt, I angrily stood up from the seat. She sat down and used the PC like how all other old parents do, while I impatiently stood behind her and stared at the monitor. After what seemed like hours, she finally logged in after slowly recalling how to. She scrolled and scrolled down the home page like forever, viewing and reading each post possible.
I've always hated being taken over in terms of PC turns and usage, especially when someone does it for the sake of nonsense or maybe selfish reasons, AND MOST especially when I'm in the middle of enjoying the sites I'm visiting. I mean, hello, there's plenty of time tomorrow.
I kept rolling my eyes as she asked, "Is this the messages button?" while placing the cursor over the NOTIFICATIONS button.
What the hell? I thought, Everybody has taught her the buttons a million times already.
"Oh yeah," she moved to the messages button this time. "It was this one."
There was this red numerical indicator by the button that said "1". She clicked on the button, and the drop-down of messages from different senders showed up. She had an unread message from her sister (my aunt), but it wasn't the sister she was expecting. It was from her nun-sister (or my nun-aunt), and the first part of the message seemed to interest me.
Let's pray for her to change her hea... (6)
My mom viewed it, and there it was.
Long, serious replies from long, serious discussions that involved Satanism, black angels, and darkness. In a matter of around 3 seconds, I was able to skim through everything, and learned that it was all about me.
"This is long," my mom mumbled.
She suddenly switched to another tab, thus interrupting my re-skimming. After a few, obvious, intentionally digressed remarks from the other tab, she finally went back to the message they've been seriously discussing without my knowledge, supposedly. Moments later, she broke the silence with a "What's wrong with you, really?"
I had too many complicated answers in my head, but I chose to remain calm and straightforward. "No, what's wrong with YOU. I didn't do anything," I calmly replied.
"Well, you always wear black."
"Because I like black."
"You like vampires, demons, and you idolize Dracula."
My mom is wrongly religious: not open-minded, yes, and not oriented about subcultures; too good at being a conformist, and obviously, what she just said about me was wrong.
"I don't like vampires, demons, and I don't idolize Dracula." I answered.
"Then what do you call those hideous, dark interests of yours?"
"I call them appreciation of the usually shunned and misunderstood things, for I believe everything is beautiful. Highly imaginative, creative and artistic individuals view the world differently; they see all things as a work of art, and only a very few non-artistic people understand this perspective. I, mom, also view the world differently."
Five-second silence of disagreement.
"You see, liking black is wrong," she started. "Why of all colors, do you choose black?"
"Because I just like it," I shrugged. "Because you like pink. Others like blue. Or green. Black is just a color. What's so wrong about liking a color?"
"Why do you choose to dwell in darkness, when there is light, then? Do you know who dwells in the light? Do you know who the Light is?"
"Yes, mom," I raised an eyebrow. She thinks I'm clueless! "Jesus--"
"Oh, so you know about Him?" she interrupted with a tone so sarcastic. "If you know about Him, why don't you choose Him?"
"Jesus is my Savior, mom, and I choose Him all the time. You have no idea how often I worship Him and pray to Him. As a matter of fact, I've attended many--"
"Are you sure?" I was interrupted again. "If you choose Him, why wear black?"
"Do you have to wear certain colors to worship God? You see, mom, God made me this way, and I firmly believe that He loves me despite these unusual interests and the flaws you all have seen in me."
"YOU see," her eyes were still fixed on the monitor, on the message. "If you think you're so right, THEY shouldn't have commented or reacted. THEY shouldn't have seen anything wrong. Your nun-aunt, for your information, isn't the only one who's been complaining. MOSTLY everyone out there, young lady, and it has been years that they've kept consulting me about this, and I'm sick of it!"
"Mom, why do you listen to bad comments and wrong judgments about me from people who BARELY EVEN KNOW ME? Why do you believe in them when they know nothing about who I actually am beneath the clothes I wear? Why not ask my friends, my teachers, the people who have gotten to know me better and who always see me everyday, about the kind of person that I am?"
"Simply because they were the ones who called up my attention," she was emotionless. "And by the way, our neighbors also hate this joke you're trying to pull off. They always tell us about this."
"Then again, mom. They DON'T KNOW ME. They're JUDGING me, mom, they're judging me according to what they see and think. YOU should be angry at them," I said this heavily now, and my voice started to shake. "If you ask the people who actually KNOW my personality, they will tell you that I'm kind," I drew in closer to her, and used my fingers to count: "I'm nice, respectful, generous, very helpful, and intelligent, but at the same time very humble to keep it down."
She didn't face me. "Why can't you change?"
"What is there in me that I should change, mom? Should I change my interests simply because others dislike them? Should I live the rest of my life pretending?" my voice shook even more. A painful lump was now in my throat. "How can you not be proud of a daughter who is brave enough to express the creativity from within, who's brave enough to ignore all of the judgmental remarks by ignorant people? Mom, I do not normally mouth off about my grades and achievements unlike anybody under this roof," my tears started falling off. "But for the sake of convincing you, I will proudly tell you that I top my English class, my Sociology-Anthropology class, and my PE class. I aced my NSTP exams, and am very well trusted and looked up to in Literature class. Now tell me mom, what is wrong about being Goth?"
I'm aware that I sounded a tad bit too boastful that instant, but nevertheless, I sounded believable, for it was truly unusual of me to tell anyone of my achievements. It was the only way to convince her, since she and dad always gave way for anything related to school. Though it was kind of clever of me to say those striking lines of wondrous educational successes just to make her speechless in this little debate of ours, I was really serious. Achieving all those weren't easy.
I sobbed as silently as I could when I let go of my words.
"Well," she scratched her knee. "As long as you know what's wrong and what's right, then I'll leave it to you." her facial expression remained the same.
"Mom, I'm seventeen."
My main thoughts moved to my aunt. "And I'm offended. She's a nun. Why is she being so judgmental? Worse, you're discussing false things behind my back, and you agreed with her. Why won't you prove to everyone my point?"
I was angry this time.
"She just simply cares. They care." Mom said.
"Then they chose the wrong way of expressing their care for me."
"They're grownups. They'll soon realize." She looked at me.
I inhaled deeply. "Soon, in the future, I'll be even more successful," I began. "I will be able to help countless people in need so I may prove how wrongly those grownups you're saying are judging me. My success and their bad comments will slap them in the face when I grow up. They WILL regret."
The conversation was ended by a conclusion and a lesson my mom told me. I had so much to disagree about, and had so much to tell, but for the sake of keeping things from being complicated, I remained silent. What lingered though, in my mind after everything was "Do what's right. Never follow what's wrong. You're old enough."
When it was over and I was finally using the PC again, anger still remained inside, but I was a bit pacified, since mom now seemed convinced, and she seemed to finally have accepted me.
She went inside the master's bedroom. Dad was inside.
And I heard her..
I heard her lamenting, and releasing all her sadness and distress by sharing everything to Dad.
"See... black... demons... bats... evil... darkness... she denies... doesn't want to change... I can't do anything..." was all I heard.
Her loud, trembling, helpless, emotional voice was very audible even through the locked door, and made the problem therefore, REMAIN UNRESOLVED.
Whatever.. I won't give a f*ck anymore.