My mother : a school essay

Since the time I've come to Seoul my mother has learnt to use gmail chat and type faster. Next thing I know she will have a facebook account and upload naked baby pictures of me! hehe:D

But staying apart has made us talk about so many things we wouldn't have spoken about. Even simply exchanging information is part of our conversation, gossiping about my sister's wedding or what the neighbour's new secret is to whats cooking at home and the state of dad's health. Things that would just be overheard are now an active part of our conversation. I feel responsible for the words I speak, responsible for the questions I ask to know what I want to know. Mother even came online late according to indian time one night after watching a show about young girls being hurt by their boyfriends and the trauma that hit their parents. She said it made her think of me so she thought she might as well check if I was looming around the cyberspace. Time apart has given us time to consider what comes off our mouths is what we want to say or what it will make the other feel. We've become more considerate of each other's personal spaces and freedom and feelings. I feel she has been able to live a little more thanks to my mistakes, knowing for sure there is someone out there worse off than her, only she wishes it wasn't her daughter. I hope there will be things she can be proud of, I hope there are days she would like to live again because of me, if not yet, there will be soon.

you were born and now you are free, so happy birthday

I guess there must be birthdays you sleep through. I fell asleep for the lack of anything better on the evening before my birthday at 8:30pm. Anything was better than spending midnight watching korean TV by yourself. Akshay called at 11:43 and said the words. Happy Birthday!

I heard the words. I knew they were coming, but they felt nothing. Just empty like a lame "take care". His intention wasn't empty but words can be like that sometimes. My "thank you" was worse, like a vaccum sucking in the next sentence whatever genuine thing it could have been.

Staring at the ceiling didn't feel the same. The minutes leading to 12 were pregnant with disappointed expectations. Expectations that carried within them the knowledge that nothing is going to happen.

The bell did ring. Someone left me a note with 2 balloons and 2 dolls as a birthday present. It was Keya. Her "Happy Birthday" felt a bit more.

Now words are slowing down for all that is happening is the movement of the fan and its gentle repercussion in the lower rims of the curtain. I still occassionally hear the metro skid against the tracks which means its not past midnight yet.

Strangely, whatever moves is whatever happens. If things stay still, the stationery presence of objects in our lives is not much of an event. Like rubbing your toes half buried in the hems of a white sheet on a very pale blue bed writing each second as it passes.