I always assumed adoption, baby switch or at least bad Karma. Nothing explained how I could be the daughter of a mother who doesn’t like watching movies at cinema? Or how she never penned a single sonnet her whole life? We always disagree to everything, argue on every topic and have views that are poles apart.
Just like every other thing on this Earth that me and my mother cannot come to celebrate, is HAIRCUT. For my mother, cutting hair is a taboo. So when I got a Bob cut, I made sure my brother was happy to have me over at his place for a few months.
After the expected and inevitable dispute over my Bob, I sat down in my room thinking, why do we fight over all possible insignificant issues? Why are we both so different? Why can we never agree on anything? Why does everything end up being a conflict? Suddenly the answer struck me. It was incandescently simple.
I am just like her. I am the spitting image of my mother.
She’s a headstrong woman, who stands her ground, who has valid reasons for her actions and has faith in her beliefs. She has never shied away from her choices in life and hence never budged.
We both have unbelievably contradicting viewpoints. She backs her arguments and I hold strong my decisions. Just mere agreeing to a point and nodding head was never what I saw in her and therefore never what I myself practiced, even with her.
I have inherited all these qualities from her. And the only reason we cannot sit in the same room is that, we both are ironically the best versions of ourselves.