The mothering of all things indispensable

How I never wanted to become a mother? But found myself slowly creeping to behave like one, think like one and complain like one? The realisation only makes me feel bitter and the tireless binding of care and worries nauseates me. Worrying about myself is a full-time job but it is quite an another thing to worry endlessly for someone that you know will only leave you soon.
Lately, I am sort of surrounded with a supportive male figure who probably listen to 30% of my words. A simple person, he is with a superficial outlook on life, but it is superficial to the degree wherein my life DOESN NOT automatically relates to being more valuable or deeper than him. Such is my life. You talk about constant shortcomings, the wants, the hateful habits, the loopholes of every bureaucratic workplaces, the disappearing savings, and the narcissism that just grazes on people’s faces these days but it doesn’t mean that you and I are any different.
This person is indispensable though. This person is the only one I can talked to when the walls of my room starts to collapse. When I’m shaking my purse to let the sucked-up coins to come free on the carpet, this is the person who understands me and tells me that he has enough to buy the bread, today. I, subconsciously starts to mother him. Because I find that I could do so much more for him than I’d be able to do so, for myself. Rules and things to be forbidden are starting to revolve around every weekdays. Some, I made them up to align his routines. I feel uneasy with the sudden wave of protectionism that is developing around me. Somewhere deep down inside, I questioned the morbid probability of what will happen — if our real mother does go away. I shuddered and opened and shuddered and opened to the vast land of my mothering imagination.

 

 

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