Mothers' wariness
Marriage talk and other headaches
Either a mother and daughter know each other very well or they are strangers.
Kyung-Sook Shin, Please Look After Mom.
My mother is wary of me.
It was one of those summer days that was oppressively hot, with a layer of moisture trapped beneath a layer of heat that made even the light fabric of my dress cling to my back and sides. It was the kind of weather that made the body crave the slightest breath of cool air.
I was lying on the freshly cleaned, cool tile floor, a fan whirring in the background while Hozier’s latest album played softly. My mother’s head popped into the darkened room before she fully entered and sat down in front of me. After a few side glances from me and some shuffling from her, she started, “Fatima, I want to ask you something.” By now, I had paused the album, removed my earphones, and waited uneasily as she gathered her thoughts.
"What do you think about marriage?". The question came out softly, in a tone that's used around easily spooked children. I felt like one at the time.
I rarely thought about marriage, and after I told her that, she asked again, “Like, never? If the right man came along, would you marry in this city or somewhere else?” I repeated that it didn’t matter because I simply wasn’t interested.
That’s when my mother began speaking fondly about the importance of marriage in life, of finding a partner, and how happy having kids can make you. Her voice carried a mix of nostalgia and conviction, as if she were reminding herself as much as she was telling me.
Listening to her, I couldn’t help but acknowledge the weight of her words. And while I agreed that many people do find happiness in marriage and want children, my views couldn’t be more different. To me, marriage is like dessert after a meal. Would your meal be complete without it? Yes. Would it be nice to have? Also yes. I explained that I saw marriage this way and that I was fine going my whole life without it.
One thing to know about my mother is that she is nothing but stubborn, so, she doubles down, asking, "What about kids then?" and bunch of other questions. This is where it becames apparent that my mother is not going to accept anything i say or drop the subject untill she gets and answer she deems good enough.
Irritated and feeling cornered, I angrily launched into an explanation: there’s no guarantee that a man wouldn’t be a terrible husband to me, there are no examples of healthy marriages in our entire family, I’m tired of hearing her complain about how awful my father is, and I’m tired of hearing him complain about her. I reminded her how my father likes to pretend everything is fine now, masking how physically and verbally abusive he was to all of us. I confessed that I’ve hated kids ever since I was one myself. I went on a long, long rant—one I’d been holding in for some time. She listened, nodding as I spoke, but I could see the concern and rebuttal in her eyes. It pained me to do that to her, but I felt I had no other choice. Telling her I didn’t want to get married wasn’t enough for her.
There was a moment of silence between us, where I could sense her struggling to reconcile her beliefs with what I had just revealed. She wasn’t trying to change my mind, but she gently suggested that perhaps I keep an open mind about marriage. To ease the wariness I had instilled in her, I agreed. After all, she said, you never know how you might feel in the future.
I promised her I would, but I also asked her to understand that marriage might not be the right choice for everyone. She smiled at me then—a smile that carried both acceptance and a hint of sadness. She just wanted me to be happy, she said, whatever path I chose