Nothing Matters Anymore - A Glimpse of My Diary

I am the firstborn granddaughter to both my maternal and paternal families. I wasn't born in a hospital as planned; I was a curious child who wanted to see the world earlier than the expected time. So, I pushed out myself from my mom's womb two months earlier, even before my respiratory system was completely grown. I was too tiny and never let anyone take my mom to any hospital; I just came out quickly at my maternal granny's home. My mom never likes hospitals, and she is scared of injections and medicines. Even as a child, I was sensitive enough to understand that hospitalization makes my mom unhappy. I was pampered by my mom's seven younger siblings. I was always treated so special by both my maternal and paternal grandparents and by my parents. Hence, I always felt like a special kid. I used to believe that it was possible to fix anything and anyone with the sincerity of love. 

My mom wants the best for me in everything. Until my 6th grade, she made sure that I stood out in every school project and cultural contest. As I lacked attendance due to my chronic respiratory ailments, I wasn't able to be a topper in the class despite my mom's effort to complete my homework. However, I backed numerous certificates and prizes for dances, fancy dresses, drama and skit performances, story and poem contributions, and school projects. Of course, I was always backed up by my mom's creative dresses, accessories, and makeovers. She had many sleepless nights to complete my school projects. Every classroom of mine displayed my projects with pride. 

My mom is such an aspiring woman! If she participates in a competition, she makes sure she wins it. For every Lion's Club Rangoli competition until my 5th grade, she was the default winner almost for six consecutive years. Those days, she had no access to even so many resources; she used to draw rangoli with such precision and perfection. Trust me, after so many internet videos and access to resources, I have still not seen people have ever attempted the rangolis she had done those days. I have seen her mixing colors from scratch and trying out the whole Rangoli on the living room floor. Gosh! I never prepared so much for even my board exams. Yet, she always tried to notice the teeny tiny flaws and never feels gratified even after winning the first prize. We are such a generation who need recognition and validation for even small efforts. As we feel gratified with our social media likes and claps for our minuscule creative efforts, we can't even relate to our parents' efforts. 

I have always been short and stout with curly and unruly hair. My mom made me look and feel like a princess. I have worn only a handful of ready-made dresses for three-plus decades. I never knew about big brands, but my mom's dresses beat them all; even when I attended high-society parties in star hotels in metro cities, colleagues always complimented my dresses. Even in my slam books from school and college, my fellow batch mates mention the dresses I wear. While growing up and even now, I never look down upon myself. I always have been self-assured though there are 100 reasons for self-doubt. When I hear so many girls talking about how inferior they feel because of how they were treated badly for their looks by their surroundings, I feel grateful to my mom that she made everyone look at me as a pretty girl. When I walk through my memory lane, I realize how much I am made of my mom!

I gave her a hard time from my birth all through her life. Unfortunately, I was born with Asthma, and I keep catching my breath - not because of surprise or fear but because of bronchitis and rhinitis. Though my father was a forward-thinking person, he is part and parcel of the patriarchal society. Therefore, he was inconsiderate towards my health issues and busy with his business. I don't remember any day that he took me to the hospital. Indeed, he contributed so much to my knowledge and taste for art, music, and literature. As my dad and I had a complicated relationship, I should write it as a separate memoir. Sadly, many of my memories are filled with hospital smells, doctors' faces, pains, and fights to heal. My mom wanted me to be ambitious about my education and life goals, as she wasn't aware of what it is to have wheezing. Poor mom! She used to beat me to study well and get good marks. These days, it has become a sin to beat a child, but, those days, they want their child to be the best in everything.

My mom was not an exception. Also, I never regret even a single day that I lived with her. In her life, she got wheezing twice: first, when she was admitted for ovarian cyst due to some medicinal allergy when I was 20, second, when she got corona. When I told her that she was having wheezing, she responded to me, "Am I having wheezing?" on her last day. I never thought in my wildest dream that she would die of breathlessness and lack of oxygen! The second wave devastatingly took my mom with a sweep just three days after my dad! As I mentioned earlier, Her fear of getting hospitalized wins again, and she took her last breath on my arm in the Ambulance before even reaching the hospital. 

I admit: we were a broken family though it's made of just three of us; my parents quarreled every day; no one is enough for no one; each of us has different expectations from each other; the finance of the family is a constant problem despite everyone earning; I was not able to fulfill the dream my mom had for me, as I have a humbler dream with fewer demands for myself; there were huge gaps that were not bridged; there were many questions left unanswered; there were many mysteries unrevealed; there were many histories that we didn't make peace with. But, my parents were my precious little world where I felt protected and liberated. Now, all I am left to do is make peace with the reality and move on; whether I like it or not. It's no more a choice... I was trying so hard to mend the cracks and keep the family together. Now, I don't have a family still I am trying to put myself together. Almost two decades of effort turned out to be nothing. We could have focused on lighter things rather than mending the impossible cracks. Lesser attention to them could have mended them on themselves... 

How much ever I feel guilty, the truth is I am kind of peaceful alone. I need not prove anything to anyone. I need not take responsibility for someone's well-being. Is it a sin to feel that way? I tried my best to be a good daughter to my parents. But I don't want to try all through my life to be the best someone (wife or mom or any relation)! It wasn't easy to be an integral part of my family, and it is not going to be easy if I don't have a family either. But, at least, it will be a different fight. I am tired of listening to people, as every relative and friend has a plan for me when I don't want one. They don't understand that nothing matters anymore, and I am OK with it!