Monday, February 21, 2011
A Portrait Of A Mother
A Portrait of a Mother By Bissme S
My mother hates me. I was only 10 when those words were tattooed in my right arm. Years later, when I was an adult, I had a plastic surgeon to remove those words. But I didn't feel any different. It was then I began to realize those words were not only written in my arm. They were written in my heart... in my mind... and in my soul. Those words would never disappear. Those words would haunt me for the rest of my life.
It was my mother who had paid a tattoo artist to crave those words on my right arm. Initially the tattoo artist was reluctant.
"I don’t tattoo young boys," he told my mother, sternly. When my mother showed him a lot of money, instantly, he was singing a different tune. My mother hated me from the day I was born. Her sole purpose in life was to bring misery into my life.
"Why do you hate me so much," I asked his mother, once.
She didn't have any rational answer.
"Not all mothers are meant to love their children,” she explained.
Every child wants their mother to love him and I was no different. I would go various lengths to get my mother to love me. But nothing worked.
"Bobby, don’t try so hard to win my heart because you may discover my little secret,” my mother told me.
“What secret,” I asked with so much curiosity.
“I may not have a heart in the first place," my mother answered. Looking at my shocked expression, my mother simply let out a huge laughter.
Tragic past are known to turn humans into heartless monsters. But my mother didn’t have any tragic past. She had a great blissful childhood years …the kind orphans would dreams of. Her parents had showered her with so much of love.
On her dying bed, my grandmother said to me: “I have raised a heartless monster. Stay away from your mother. “She will only destroy you. She will only hurt you. She is not born to love anyone.”
My mother was lucky in marriage, too. My dad had loved her with all her heart and practically worshipped the ground she walked on.
But she felt nothing for him. She didn’t hide her feelings. Out of frustration, my dad took his own life. He went to nearest train station. All his clothes were on the ground. Totally naked, he ran towards the running the train.
In his suicide note all he wrote was: “I cannot go on loving a woman who would not love me back.”
My mother showed no emotion over his death. But my grand mother was furious beyond words.
“If you cannot love anyone, why did you get married? Why did you become a mother? Why did you have a husband? Why did you have a child? Why? Why?...” her mother asked her angrily.
Calmly my mother simply answered: “I was bored and I wanted some toys to play with.”
Those words were enough for my grand mother to end ties with her own flesh and blood. Till her last breath my grand mother didn’t want to see the heartless daughter she had raised. Like always, my mother didn’t have any ounce of regret of what had taken place.
“Life is too short to wallow in regrets,” my mother often said.
My best friend Patrick refused to believe me that my mother does not love me.
“It is simply impossible for a mother not to love her own flesh and blood,” he said.
One day, out of blue, Patrick bumped into my mother and me. Quickly he took the opportunity to ask my mother:
“Do you love Bobby?”
Patrick was expecting her answer would prove me wrong.
“I wished I have not given birth to Bobby. I wished I had picked him from the trash,” she said with so much seriousness.
Indeed her answer shocked him. Slowly, Patrick learned that not all women are meant to be mothers.
In one of my attempt to win my mother’s love, I decided to paint her portrait. It will be the best work I have done. Indeed her portrait was a masterpiece that impressed critics and art buyers. But my mother was not impressed.
“Don’t feel bad Bobby. A lot of people have no talent,” she said.
That was the last straw that broke the camel’s back. I was determined that I would stopped loving my mother. I just packed my bags and left. My grand mother was right. My mother was born not to love any one. My mother was dead for me. I vowed that I would never see his mother again.
Years later I found myself breaking the vows that I had made. My fiancée Sarah desperately wanted me to have a better relationship with my mother
“Oscar Wilde said you must never marry a man who hates his mother because he will end up hating you,” she joked
“I do not want you hate me,” she added
She was eager to meet the woman I hated…the woman I loved… the woman who brought me into the world. She was convinced time changes everyone.
“Your mother could have become a better person, “Sarah said.
“Leopards can their spots but not my mother,” I said.
In the end I give in to what ever Sarah desired. So one late evening, we found ourselves in my mother’s living room. I expected that my mother would treat us with hostility and uttered words that would offend us. Our conversation would be sour and short. Our visit would only last for less than ten minutes
But I was wrong. My mother was kind to us. She hugged me and the bride to be many times. She even shed tears of happiness.
“This is bracelet has been with our family for generation,” she said to Sarah.
“My husband’s mother gave it to me and now I am giving it to you.”
The following weeks all of us shared a closer bond. Sarah and I often visited my mother. She was even helping us in our wedding preparation
“I want nothing less than five grand children,” my mother teased us.
Sarah and I blushed with shyness. Our wedding was six weeks away. Excitement was written all over our faces. For the first time in my life I saw love in my mother eyes. May be Sarah was right. Time changes everyone.
Happiness was dancing in my life. Finally, God has showered me with a mother I wanted. But I should have realized God doesn’t like happy endings.
One night I went to my mother’s house. It was really strange to find the door to my mother’s house was unlocked. When I entered her bedroom, I found my mother and my fiancée were in intimate position. I was speechless. I was shocked. Sarah was covering her face in shame. She was in tears. But my mother was smiling wide.
It was then I realized that the kindness and the love that my mother had showed was a charade. She seduced Sarah into a relationship and make sure that I saw them in a position I should not see them in.
My mother just wanted to break my heart. She wanted to bring misery into her life. My mother didn’t change at all.
The wedding was cancelled. I simply cannot forget the image of my mother and Sarah in the same bed, sharing kisses and having their naked bodies pressed against each other.
I never saw both of them again. I prayed that our path would never cross again. Some pains are impossible to forget. Some betrayals are impossible to forgive.
Sarah never saw my mother again and my mother has no intention of seeing Sarah any more. My mother had no use of Sarah any more. My mother got what she wanted. She wanted to see me in misery and she had her dreams come true. Indeed, not all mothers are meant to love their children.