happy fiftythird.

to my mother. the woman whom i love more than any other mother.

quick thoughts on mothers:

mothers are a peculiar thing.

i always say "i won't do this like my mother."

and i always forget what i want to do just like my mother.

some mothers are there. present. involved.

some mothers are gone. silent. unattached.

some are in between.

some of us have more than one mother.

step, surrogate, foster, etcetera.

a few of us remind ourselves that we are not a reflection of our mother.

just like she is not a reflection of me.

that's what i keep saying to myself. but i often wonder if it's true.

i wonder if i will repeat my history, the one my mother has created.

or if i will stray from her beliefs, ideals, dreams?

mothers are peculiar. none of ours are the same.

when i grow up, i want to be like my mother in one simple way:

she is good enough.