June 9, 2020

Dear Mom, you Forgot to Teach me How to Love Myself.

Lately, I have been working on my confidence because I never got to learn it before.

I grew up in a mess, with a missing figure. You were barely a woman—young at the core.

Had I known the prophecy, I would have asked you to go out and redeem yourself to the world, but the nature of our relationship was inevitable. I needed you to act brave and bold—you have given me all that you could.

There’s one part which should be understood: it’s not your fault, and not mine—it was just your young heart, which could not be defined.

You are still so bubbly and full of life. My heart aches with happiness when I see that spark in you. I have no complaints, but I wish I, too, had those rose-colored glasses.

I’ve always seen the world with a tightly bound view.

You have taught me so many things in life. You only missed the part where you were supposed to tell me self-love is the key to survive between the turbulence of the sea.

I’m good, but I don’t feel good enough. I’m called the humble one, but I can’t snap back from things after I stumble. I’m slowly learning all of that now.

But I wish it was you who had taught me to fall all the way down. And in the end, how to hold my crown.

Life is not a fairytale. You could have told me this when I was crying. You shouldn’t have left me on the hold.

I’m paying the price of all of it—here and now.

I am still hard on myself. And finding it hard to share.

I don’t wish for more because I don’t know how.

I don’t wish to blame, but I am torn—you are wonderful and mine.

I just wish you had given me more of yourself,  more of your time.

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