Fragments of Me

Maybe I'm not meant to have what I want

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It was a rainy Friday night, and my mum and I were lying in bed, wrapped in the quiet patter of rain outside. She held me close, like how she would if I were still her little baby - though, honestly, I think she still sees me as one.

We lay in silence. The kind of silence that fills the air with unspoken things. After a few moments, I crack open an eye, wondering whether I should confess the weight in my chest to the person who might have caused it.

She picks up on it. "What is it?" she asks, her voice soft but insistent.

I bite the inside of my cheek, my thoughts a tangled mess. I chastise myself for letting it show. Now she won't drop it until I say something.

"You won't like it," I admit, barely above a whisper.

"That doesn't matter." Her words come out gentle, but I hear the underlying hesitation.

I hesitate, the confession tasting bitter in my throat, but it tumbles out of me anyway.

"I miss... her," I say, knowing I don't need to explain who I'm talking about. I can feel my eyes shift away, a flicker of shame rising in my chest. But I remind myself that loving her is nothing to be ashamed of, even if my mum can't see it. So, I look back at her.

The change in her expression is subtle, but I feel it. The warmth I felt moments ago evaporates, replaced by something colder, more closed off. I feel her arms shift, like the love she had moments ago is slipping through her fingers.

"It wouldn't be normal if you didn't miss her," she says, but I know she's not okay with what I just said.

"I didn't realize how much of my day she'd become until I stopped talking to her," my mouth speaks even as my brain screams not to.

She pauses, calculating her next words carefully. That look comes back. I've seen it before, a hundred times, and each time it fills me with the same cold frustration.

I stare back, trying to understand it, but I never can.

"What?" It escapes me sharper than I meant but just can't stand the look in her eyes - like she knows everything, like she sees through me and is pitying me for not seeing the world the way she does. I force myself to hold it in. She's my mother. I shouldn't lash out.

"Nothing..." She mutters, but I know it's not nothing. She can't hide it from me.

"It's just... this isn't you."

The words feel like a stab to my chest.

I've heard this phrase so many times and every time, a little piece of me cracks. Each time, I think 'this time will be different' but I'm met with the same crushing disappointment.

"This isn't you. I know it," she says, her hand petting the top of my head, but I can feel the reassurance is more for her than for me.

From the brokenness in my heart, a tiny fire ignites.

"Do you know this isn't me? Or do you just not want it to be?" The question slips out before I can stop it. I feel the sting of tears behind my eyes as the words tumble out, but I won't let them fall.

She shakes her head, like the words she's hearing can't be true, like she's trying to convince herself that I'm still the person she wants me to be.

"This isn't you. You're just lost. You'll find your way back," she says, smiling, but the words pierce through me like cold steel. The fire in me is extinguished.

Why can't you just accept me? Why do you want me to live your life through me? The questions sit heavy on my tongue, but I swallow them down, burying them deep.

"I have a vision for you." Her voice is sweet again, and it cuts through me in the worst way. "In the future, you'll have a great job and a handsome husband. You'll have two kids and live in a large house."

I try to smile, but it feels hollow, like a mask I'm forcing myself to wear. Her vision sounds perfect, the kind of future that's supposed to make me feel warm inside. But I know the truth. She's not imagining my happiness. She's imagining the life she never had. A husband with a good job and a perfect personality. The life she wishes she could've lived but never did. And she wants me to take her place.

But this isn't what I want. Why doesn't she get that?

"Mum, you have to remember I'm my own person," I say, my voice trembling, afraid that if I say too much, she'll crush me all over again. "We're not always going to want the same things for me."

"I know." That look again. The one that makes me feel smaller and stupid. That look of pity. "But I know you. I know what the real you wants."

My heart shatters all over again but I paste a smile on my face, forcing the tears back. My heart screams, but I stay quiet.

"Okay." It's the only word I can trust to leave my lips without breaking.

My eyes burn as my heart splinters once more, and I feel like I'm slipping away from myself, trapped in a vision of a future I never asked for. I wonder, maybe for the last time, if I'll ever be enough for her.