retrospection is a deep pain
with the realization that the deities
once revered are fallible and vulnerable.
disillusionment dissatisfies and deeply traumatizes,
grasping at the fading faith
in those whom you idolized.
“who was responsible for the suffering of My Mother?”
the question that lingers everyday
i would often think of you.
the man who My Mother chose;
the man who charmed Her with
saccharine gifts and empty gestures.
a gift who became Her joy.
a gift who became me.
the only gift you ever gave Her.
emotional outbursts are your bread and butter
each day a ticking time bomb to suffer
we, your meek royal subjects
subjected to your lashing tongue
Your Highness demanding all but
giving none in return.
a conditional love that will never fade
a condition for Her mind, body, spirit
a condition for my excellence and accomplishments
all to build the perfect illusion.
nights of conflict, anxiety, tensions
rising, i cowered as My Mother endured
your ire. screaming contests that never ended.
i watched as She wept for her predicament,
under the watchful eyes of your panopticon
you were the omnipresent monument in our lives
that never lifted a finger to even
share Her burdens.
i saw the photos. i saw
you. me. not Mother. another boy.
you played house while My Mother
toiled away for you.
you Judas, you Brutus, you
betrayer of our family.
you promised to be better,
you promised we would live well,
you promised to repay Her, yet
you wasted Her money
you wasted Her trust
you wasted Her time
who is responsible for the suffering of My Mother?
i often ask myself that question everyday
i look in the mirror and the front camera of my phone
and see you.
i tell my beloved that i don’t want to
end up like you.
you do not own My Mother.
i wished She could be rid of you.
but i know She will never leave you.
i had always been scared of you.
but as i age and become more like you,
i realize you are not a tyrant nor a monster.
you are a just man – a man child
who never grew up,
who never thought
to take responsibility for his actions.
i slowly begin to realize that
we are the same.
i reside in a faraway land,
frivolously spending Her resources.
i’m in my lavish American dream and
Her in Her Chinese nightmare
i drain and I drain –
still She gives.
Mother pleads for my attention
just an ounce – a text, a call
would make Her happy,
yet my priorities are askew.
i spend time on work and games and
my debauchery, She pleads again and again
until my guilt overwhelms me.
i want to be the good son,
to be a better man than you,
to love and care for Her
when you rarely did, but
i neglected Her to your mercy
i neglected Her for my dream
She suffers for two ingrates, and we
still do not repay Her for Her
sacrifices.
we are coconspirators of My Mother’s suffering.
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