Mamma's Boy

Jun 12

I'd like nothing more than to lay the fault on my mother, but I know that's wrong. All those nights she spent brooding over dimly lit piles of torn envelopes and boldfaced stationary, dour after a fight with dad or sobbing because he was working his 2nd or 3rd shift, and she couldn't endure on her own. That's how she would call me. No - it's selfish to think that was the intent...

She'd pull me onto my lap and confess her perceived sins, the hinges of the recycled folding chair creaking and groaning under her frame as she stroked my brow and desperately begged me to get into college, and only for something worthwhile.

I hate to wonder - would I ever have felt poor had she not reminded me so incessantly? Were it not for the grave, blurry eyes in her sunken, pockmarked face, would I ever have come to envy my friends' gameboys over my set of glass marbles? Had the finger she used to support my chin not been wrinkled from countless hours at countless sinks, and had I not smelled the disinfectant cocktail on her apron long before feeling its fabric against my thigh, would I ever have come to pass the arts department with such disdain?

It's been so long, and I know I can't rightly lay blame to my poor mother. That an average Tuesday feels impassable without roaring music to drown out my antipathy doesn't grant me license to resent the actions of my poor, hardworking mom.

Truly, what have I to complain about? A STEM graduate with a safe, well paying job and no student debt - I should feel nothing but reverence for that woman who poured every ounce of herself into her child. I know it's not right to blame her of the emptiness I feel now. After all, how could she have known to prepare me for a feeling of purposelessness when her life's battles were fought to put food on the table?

God knows I miss you, mom. After this bout of self-pity, I promise to smile a little more, and to truly make an effort to find the colour in life. And who knows - maybe this time, I'll really mean it.

August 6

Maybe my problem is that I don't know how to have fun. 

After settling on 3D Modeling as my new catalyst for purpose (it's an employable skill, after all), I spent hours upon hours skimming tutorial videos and poring through documentation.

By the end, I had a handful of stiff, clay-like figures and a smattering of notes to serve as my foundation. I was exhilarated. I pounded my chest triumphantly, and I knew mother would be proud. 

I spent the next day and a half smugly distracted, jotting down ideas every now again of new, exciting creations I would birth. I envisioned my grandpa's satisfaction after cracking a pecan shell using a mechanism all my own, seniors with cerebral palsy who couldn't stop themselves from writing letters of thanks after I'd empowered them to write using my cleverly designed writing aid, and how photographers expert and amateur would swoon over my camera stability mounts. I may even be able to start a Kickstarter, I thought. God, I was so naive. Each time I started, I found a reason to stop. "I'm exhausted enough from work", I'd reason. "I'd only be hurting myself in the long run to force this now". I had compartmentalized 3D Modeling as work - work with the possibility of enjoyment, but work nonetheless. And as such, it needed to be carefully prioritized among my other work. God, my apartment has never been this clean. I'm ashamed at how long I've been able to convince myself this was a necessity. I don't even think I've ever dusted before now. 

And when I ran out of chores, I simply fabricated more. I carefully curated lists of films to watch, albums to listen to, recipes to cook...that's all important for life enrichment, after all - why focus all my creative energy on my new hobby? The logic was convincing, but the whole affair was ridiculous. I'd find myself at 2:30 in the morning saerching for hidden gems deep in the bowels of a shoegaze compilation, or spending far too much energy deciding which of the "15 Best Summer Zucchini Recipes" was truly the best. I started waking up later and later, until my alarm clock was the only thing getting me to work on time. I became groggy, which meant it would be unproductive to model at night.

On the weekend, I would stay in bed as long as possible, only semi-conscious of my anxiety. More than anything, I feared I would sit down, boot up blender, and model nothing, or worse - model mediocrity. When I finally dragged myself out of bed, I'd curse myself for my self-induced grogginess. But hey - that was no state for creativity, so I might as well then get through some of my newly curated lists of activities (they're enriching, after all).

After finishing a few of these items, I'd write online reviews. This provided fleeting self-validation, as it was a sign of engaging more deeply with the media I was consuming, and having these experiences made me a better-balanced person. As a bonus, I could finally catch up on some of the films I envied my peers for having the opportunity to see (this happened from grade school up through grad school).

I'm disappointed to have kept this up for so long. It's as if I've contracted a kind of writer's block without ever having penned anything original. Maybe the "originality" is more of the problem. I'm so concerned with building something perfect, I'm afraid to build anything at all.

This web of excuses I've created and subsequently caught myself in is nothing short of a gold metal example of mental gymnastics. Great job, me...

After all this time, I've only succeeded in making myself more miserable. My life is as it was, but with a cleaner apartment and the constant guilt of having not committed to my new hobby. 

I'll have to make this plan more actionable.

And Mom, I'm sorry to say my attempts to smile more failed after less than a week. I guess I figured it would all come as a result of my newly acquired mastery. I'm sorry.

Aug 28

Mom, it's been 4 years since you were lowered into that hole, and I still don't know if you made the right decision. I know you wanted what was best for me, but you didn't even give me an option. What tears me up the most is that you knew. You knew it was coming, and that's why you pressed me so hard to stay in my studies and not to worry or call when the semester started. I hate to think that before I left for the Spring semester, even then you were holding back your pain so I wouldn't worry. It's a level of selflessness that maybe no-one else has, and maybe no-one else should have.

Whatever you were feeling, you didn't tell me about the 2nd heart attack. In fact, you told me your blood pressure was steadily decreasing, and the doctor expected no future complications. I only wish I had been more skeptical. It's unfair to you that I was up late flipping through textbooks in my dorm without a care in the world whilst you were coughing up blood in your deathbed. Well...that's how I imagine it, at least, since you seem to have sworn both Sheryl and dad to a vow of silence on the matter.

I would have given anything to be at your side when it was coming to an end. I should have been there. And yet...you wanted me here. I hate that I can't decide which one of us is selfish, and I hate that I can't really even be mad considering you did all of this for me, even if I don't agree with it.

One of these days, I'll get the nerve to call dad and see if he'll let me see what was in your hope chest. I don't think I even have a good reason to find out, but I've always wanted to know. Maybe I just need to see what you really wanted - the full amount you gave up to give me a chance at happiness. Do I just want to validate my undeserved sorrow? Or maybe I just want to believe that your hope chest is rife with references of me. At least that way, I'd know you died doing what you always planned to. Actually, maybe that would make it worse. And what am I saying? There's no way you would have hoped for things to turn out this way, even if it was all about me.

In mom's hope chest, we never would have settled for that old La-Z-Boy, with its worn springs and over-active footrest, whose activation was only ever a sign of father's comings and goings. The floorboards wouldn't have creaked, we would have got that miserable heater working, Bonanza re-runs would have come in "just right" on that tiny, 4-channel TV, and, by God, we would have been a family. A real American family - with the white picket fence and the BBQs.

In mom's hope chest, we never would have eaten Vienna sausages. Goodness...I never want to even see another Vienna sausage as long as I live.

I'm sorry - I shouldn't be sullying your memory with this talk. Hmm...I think you'd've reminded me of Miss Dolly at a time like this. The good old days where times were bad, right? Well...I think I may have traded our view of the airport for her Little Pigeon River, but sure - we had it good because we had each other. And say, what good is there in remembering the past if nothing productive comes of it? I hear you - i'll put on my big boy pants and deal with it. Heh, I always kinda liked hearing you say that.

Well, you probably want to hear about me, right? Well...I'm fine. I'm not sure my 3D Modeling plan was a success, but I can't say it was a failure either. I designed myself a cable organizer for all kinds of different cables. Back when I was cleaning for procrastination's sake, I kept thinking I should finally do something about my boxes of tangled wires. Well, now they all have their own place on the wall. A company called Shapeways printed my design and mailed it to me - isn't that neat? I got 4 copies printed, which comes out to be nearly 2 boxes of cords. It looks kind of snazzy on the wall, or at least I think so...ok, maybe the bright orange looks tacky, but I'm sure it'd be a lot more expensive to get it printed in something chrome-y.

Those wires are the first thing I've hung since move-in day. They fit nicely next to my diplomas, I'm happy to say. I did finally take down that Jeff Gordon poster, though. I know he's dad's favourite and all, but I just can't get into Nascar.

Anyway, I think it's too early to tell whether this whole thing was worth it. I don't feel bad, but I'm not over the moon, either. I have been smiling more, but it takes effort. I have to practice in the mirror every day so it doesn't look like a smirk. I think a few of my coworkers have noticed, but they haven't said anything yet. I hope my "smile" isn't putting anyone off.

I think I owe it to myself to use what I've learned and try again. Getting the last project done was a slog, what with all that procrastination and the learning curve, but I'm over that now. To that end, I recently took measurements of the server mounting brackets at work. We have some more hardware coming in soon, but I'm not sure we have anywhere to put it. Server racks are expensive, and they only come with 10 or 12 brackets a piece, but you can mount a lot more hardware than that, and separate bracket sets are overpriced. I figure I could save my company a bit of trouble if I can get some of my own brackets made before we need to order any. It'll be a tight window, but you always said I work better under pressure!

As for other enrichment, I recently bought a mouse! I know you wanted me to get a girlfriend, but I just don't think I'm ready. I've hardly even figured myself out, let alone a member of the opposite sex. For now, Alphonso is my sole companion. I hope you like the name. I called him that because he's round and sweet, like the Alphonso mangoes Mitesh used to bring to our dorm after spring break. I really hope they start selling them in the states soon - I'd love to share an Alphonso with Alphonso, as cannibalistic as that may sound.

I'm glad we could talk like this again, mom. It's made me feel a lot better. I may not write again for awhile, but please don't worry about me. I'm doing my best down here, and I'm sure it'll all be ok.

Thanks so much for all you've done.