Week 9 – Nostalgia

Sitting in front of the TV I came across a movie I hadn’t seen since I watched it years ago in the cinema. I went to see Eight Legged Freaks way back when it came out in the UK. Spiders freak me out and I remember the film Arachnophobia used to freak me the hell out (although I’ve watched it several times). However, I remember watching it with my mother in the cinema and laughing throughout the film. I mostly remembered the last bit of the film, but as it played before me today, I began getting little flashbacks. I saw actors in the movie, who were kids back then but are now stars, whether it be TV or film. “Oh My God! Scarlett Johansson was so young!”

I began to feel nostalgic for the days I went to the cinema with my mother. We saw a multitude of movies back then, including Austin Powers and 8 Miles. It was something we enjoyed doing (when we could afford it). ‘Cause my mother was there, she would often convince the ticket sellers that I was much older than my actual age – I miss those days. One of the most exhilarating things in the world; trying to convince the cinema we’re older than we really are.

My mother was probably the most influential person in my life. Which for some, I know is normal, while for others it may be a little weird. Often my mother wasn’t just the woman who brought me to this world – the person who raised, provided for and taught me; but she was also my friend and more often than one would believe, my daughter. My mother practised a manner of upbringing I like to call “You can try what you like, but with me”.

Don’t worry, she disciplined me plenty, I’d never forget those moments when I saw red in her eyes; but she also respected my intelligence and treated me with respect and a manner much older than my age. I learned the price of responsibility, freedom and independence. She would allow me to try things bit by bit, until I proved to her I can handle the weight of the freedom she gave me.

Although we had our differences, and like every mother and daughter we had our fair share of conflict, my mother tried as best she could to be the best parent possible on her own. I never truly felt I needed my father, especially as I learned the reality of who my father was and the hostility she had to endure. There really is a fine line between love and hate.

I had many firsts in my life thanks to my mother. Things that allowed me to transition into the mysterious world of adults. Thanks to her, thanks to the things she showed me, stories she told me and the experiences she allowed me to have, I was able to handle her loss with greater ease than many others my age or older. I have to admit I have not mourned nor felt pain like I did the day and years after I lost her. Even after death, I’m still learning more and more, thanks to her moments of wisdom and tales that now make more sense than ever before… Thank you Mama, for the bad and the good. Thank you.

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