a rather important post, i think. or at least a very emotional one.

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i... just got back from the harvard/princeton/university of virginia conference.
there's so much i would say about it were it not for other, more pressing matters that i'm compelled to discuss:

i swear, i knew that i should have told my mother not to come. not because of what happened at the hyatt regency, but because she and i.. we can't be exposed to each other for that long without getting in an argument, usually with tears on my side and anger on both; we get so angry and frustrated, so discouraged and so afraid, and, at least for me, guilty. misunderstandings culminate in a desperate grappling towards understanding each other, and then a sadness that comes with knowing that it isn't possible, even though we try so hard. we comprehend each other's feelings and reasons to a certain extent but we can't justify each other. we can't come to terms. we can't atone ourselves.it's me knowing that i've hurt her through hurting myself and that i wasn't thinking about what she'd think because i was too occupied with personal relief, a very despairing need to mitigate the weight on my chest. it's her feeling guilty about it and recognizing the mistakes she's made with her first child. it's me understanding that there's no other way she can talk to me other than as though she were talking to an impertinent adolescent because i'm her daughter. it's her also knowing that i'm not just a sixteen year old. it's her talking to my teachers and listening to them tell her that her daughter seems older than they are, that i was born middle aged and that i have that ambiguous nature of an "old soul". it's me knowing that there is no possible way for her to comprehend my beliefs because our mentalities are born of entirely different roots. it's me knowing that i could in no way repay her or forgive myself. it's me knowing what she wants and what she hopes for me. it's her knowing that i know. it's her thinking-- hell, it's everyone thinking-- that i'm something to reckon with and someone that can't be stopped by anything but myself. it's me having grown up with everyone around me telling me that i'll rule the world if i want to and that i'm intelligent enough to deserve being cynical. and please don't think me arrogant, but i'm not going to be timidly modest and say that i'm not that smart. it's my mother knowing that at sixteen i've experienced and witnessed and learned of things that every mother never wants her child exposed to. it's her feeling guilty about that and it's her knowing that she couldn't have stopped me even if she had known. it's me knowing that i just went and did it anyway. it's an unclear mess of anger, resentment and love. it's a battleground upon which both parties fight halfheartedly, attacking themselves more than each other. it's me and it's her living under one roof. it's me hurting her more than anyone else in the world because i love her most. it's her hurting me more than anyone else can hurt me because she loves me more than anyone.
and every single time it ends with my nose pathetically running and my face itching from the lines of salt water than have begun to dry on my face.
















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