On the 25th of September, at 11:04 am, my mom Googled my e-mail address, and found this blog.
She visits every day like clockwork; around 8:30 am when she gets into work, and sometimes during lunch around 12:30 pm. Even though I told her never to contact me again, she continues to check on me.
It’s something I’ve known for a while now.
The existence of this website was a secret I kept from my parents for as long as I could. I felt like I owed it to them to overlook my childhood memories because they stayed together for my sake, so I never wanted them to know this seemingly unreconciled side of me. When they told me they were getting divorced, I wrote an entry (that’s never been published) about how I stopped caring. It was their turn to start caring about me.
Of course, this was only true in theory.
To be honest, I was devastated. Bronwen likened it to her mom finding her diary under her bed, and I tend to agree with the analogy.
Chinese kids don’t talk to their parents about much. Even after being out of touch for a long time, parents will only ask whether they have enough money, whether they’re eating enough, and how their marks are in school, if applicable.
Some were surprised that my mom would continue reading my blog, believing the things I say would be too painful for her to read. It makes sense though. This is the only way she can stay close to me.
So I have to ignore the entries in my server logs that constantly remind me of her presence. I can’t let it affect the only place where I can write unrestricted. I just have to let go, and continue writing. Damn the consequence, as someone once said. There’s nothing else I can do. After all, this is a public journal. I have no right to complain about who comes here.
When you let go, you can write about anything.