Journalled on Wednesday, 8th of March 2023 | Copacabana, Rio de Janeiro: 30 degrees, hot, sunny, and slightly overcast.
It is the 8th of March, Women’s Day and my mother’s birthday.
I had tried to call my mother early in the morning when Yasmin was with me before she went to school, but there was no answer.
I tried again in the early afternoon, but it was busy, so I could only get through in the early evening. She was happy to hear my voice, and she told me that her next-door neighbours, a Romanian family, had given her flowers and that she had had lunch out with a friend.
Yasmin was with me too, so that she could wish her grandmother a happy birthday. My mother also voluntarily told me about the arrangements for her will. She told me where the will would be left and what she had decided about the house and her things.
I have a brother, Russell. He’s three years younger than me, and we are like chalk and cheese. I will talk more about him in later posts, but now I would like to talk more about my mother.
My mother. For as long as I can remember, she has been extremely difficult and opinionated. My earliest memories of my mother are of her always fighting and arguing with everyone about everything. The neighbours, my father, my brother, one of my uncles, my grandparents, and finally me.
I did not and would not take sides with her in arguments against my father; I was very young, so she decided to declare war on me.
I remember that from when my father left home to when I was kicked out of the home at the age of 17.
It was more or less eight years of my life that were hell. In that moment, I was the worst thing on earth to her. For her, I was responsible for all the problems in the world, including hers.
At 17, she kicked me out of her home, but that’s another story. What I would like to say is that whilst my mother was being a toxic person towards me, my brother was being protected and cared for by her.
My brother was diagnosed with a hyperactive nature when very young, and the complicated and turbulent separation and divorce of our parents was so complicated that it resulted in my brother having a nervous breakdown.
My mother had always tried to compensate for the failures of her marriage and, more broadly, her life by trying to make everything right for my brother. As I was the second villain of the situation, my father was the first, as I have already stated; it was hell.
Nowadays. I have realised it wasn’t by chance that I went to London alone. I lived on the streets for a while and eventually moved to Brazil, far from the agro!
It’s interesting how life can take unexpected turns. For instance, my brother and I had very different experiences with our mother. While I struggled with her, my brother had an easier time. Later in life, though, my brother distanced himself and his family from her because of issues with his wife.
Meanwhile, I moved to Brazil but kept in touch and offered support to my mother, who now needs it. It’s ironic that I, who suffered so much because of her, am now the one who makes sure she is okay.
My brother, on the other hand, is extremely bitter towards her and our father (who has since passed away) and wants nothing to do with either of them. It reminds us that life can take unexpected turns, even when we least expect it.
Life often holds us accountable for our failures and hardships. It’s like a business ledger, where we have both assets and liabilities or positives and negatives. It’s a balance, a scale that weighs how well we manage the challenges and difficulties that come our way in life.
Although my mother is not a bad person, she can be extremely difficult to deal with. As a result, she has been estranged from her family for about 20 years. Despite having four grandchildren, she has had very little, if any, interaction with them.
I believe life is inherently unfair; however, our choices have consequences, and we must be willing to pay the price.
In bed by 10:00 pm.
Thank you.
Thanks for reading my blog. Check out my other posts and share your thoughts in the comments.
Richard
