Where the Heart Is
Of late I have gone sappy. I cry over fictions including silly romance films. Worse, I cry out of the blue. I suppose I have been that way long before I know it. People normally become stronger as they mature. But I'm going the opposite direction. Need to do some reality check here. Truth be told, this heart is malleable...I'm tasting the fruit of unconditional love, grown from the seeds sown and nurtured by my mother. I don't consider my mother a normal mother. In fact, as far as I'm concerned, the word normal is no where near to describe the entire family. For instance, we were not brought up affectionate (except my eldest sister who despite born a firm character, just loves to bond verbally and sometimes too unnecessarily). In the family, shouting and yelling are both the recognised equivalence of chatting. There are many things weak and lacking in the structure, but I'm not sure if anyone could have done a better job under the same constraints.
Anyway, there are people, whose relationship with you could be so impossible or difficult but when they are absent, you feel void. You are suddenly encapsulated by this sadness. And it hurts you so to watch them go with a headache and a broken heart, carrying with them an excess baggage amidst the deafening crowd, the smoke, dirt and dust. Though temporary, you worry, you empathise and sympathise. Yet, what you feel could not possibly measure up to that felt by the persons whose shoulders bear all that weight. No matter how much you try to reach out, it's often intrinsic hence the burden cannot be shared.
As I watched my mom trailing off at the station, my eyes began to well, my brims started to overflow. Only the reflection from my glasses could disguise those colourless beads which I would soon lose control over.
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