***Wrote this in January 2024, but finally got a chance to edit and post it today***
Growing up, I was always closer to Nanna. We had almost everything in common except our age and gender. Almost. Meanwhile, me and Maa… didn’t.
We still don’t agree on most things. Not that we disagree about every single thing, but when it comes to the big things… Not many common perspectives.
Religion. The fact that I want to never get pregnant and want to adopt kids instead. (She laughed when I told her at the age of almost-nineteen and said I didn’t know what I was talking about). My dating life. (She thinks I shouldn’t date until I find the person I want to marry). Not to mention, the fact that she wants me to marry a Telugu Hindu Brahmin, while I don’t even identify myself as a Brahmin.
It shouldn’t take much effort to figure out why I go “oy vey” to half the things she says she wants for me.
But the fact that she’s the best baker in the world is the one thing we can agree on. Her coffee cake’s the best. But her orange cake is my second favorite (and the one she apparently baked today a week after I left). I’ll definitely be baking it with her when I go home for Nanna’s birthday.
For all intents and purposes, her cakes are my favorite thing about her. That and the fact that she’s the only person I can watch late night crime shows with.
We may never be the mother or daughter the other wants or expected. But doesn’t mean we can’t (most of the time) still have a good relationship.
There are still going to be times in which we’ll want to shake each other and ask “why are you like this?” Always. I guarantee it.
She will never accept the fact that I don’t believe in a human-like god and prayer and I will never accept that she needs to turn up the volume on the TV to 30 in the middle of the night when I can hear just fine at 10. Her necessity to match her clothing and do her make up to go the grocery store will always contradict my necessity to grab the first thing out of my closet and never let lipstick touch me even before a date or an interview.
We’ll never be what we want. But we can accept who we are.
Perhaps, the fact that I am writing this essay means I have accepted it.
– Samhi C.
