"You're just like your mother"
I am my mother, the bitter words she swallows, the salty tears she cries.
I am my mother, the piercing words, the hysteri al spiral westwards
I am my mother, the loving heart, the weary face.
I am my mother, the colorless during tests, the high achieving.
I am my mother, the focused, the zoned out
I am my mother the same mind, the same soul.
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Sabezra Moment
Watching Ahsoka episode 4, and we got to this part…
Ahsoka: I know what Ezra means to you.
To which my mother responded (who has never shown any interest in Sabezra AT ALL).
As Sabine: HE’S MY BOO!!!!!
To say I was shocked is an understatement.
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Guys this is so fucked up the hair the popped collar the FLANNEL THE MOUSTACHE THE GREY TEMPLES THE HAIR PULLED OVER ONE SHOULDER?????Im dead. What a fucking woman.
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I don't remember the first time my parents told me I could be anything I wanted when I grew up. I remember not believing it, or at least not believing it the way I knew they meant it. Thought they meant it.
"You can be anything you want when you grow up." It didn't mean anything. It meant you could be anything big. You could be an astronaut, or the president, or maybe a famous actor. You can be anything you don't think is possible to be today.
Maybe that's a good message, or it has a good message hidden in it somewhere, I don't know, because I hated it. I was frustrated by it.
"You could be anything." What is anything? I don't want to be something impossible. I don't want to be something big. I want to be me- does that count? Is that enough?
"You can be anything you want." I don't know what I want. I was 13 years old and I didn't know what I was, much less what I wanted. A fucking break maybe. A full night's sleep.
I don't remember the first time my parents told me I could be anything I wanted when I grew up. But... I do remember the first time I understood what my mother meant. I was 16 years old, at the peak of my frustration and drama as a teenager, and she had just told me "you can be whatever you want" for a profession. And I snapped, I broke, and I said: "what if I want to be a garbageman?"
And she just. looked at me. And I thought, you know, that's it then. She never meant anything. She meant anything she personally respects. She meant anything big. The glamorous sort of things people are supposed to aspire to, not the small, gentle, peaceful things. Not the things people take for granted. She meant the things you can be all the time - like a scientist, like a pilot, like a politician, the things you are even when you're not doing them. Not the things you can do, and then leave at the door and come home to be something else.
Except, instead of any of that, what she said next was this: "Will it make you happy?"
Fuck, I don't know. Maybe! But isn't that a better metric? I think so, I think it is. I know when I'm happy, I've been happy before, and it doesn't take a lot. It's not big or impossible, the odds are not against it. I know how to be happy.
I know it feels a lot like understanding my mother never wanted me to be anything, she just wanted me to be happy.
And you know what? I am.
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"I'm okay now... as well as I can be, anyway."
I don't know who wrote this dialog, but you can tell they understand grief on a personal level. This is literally what I always tell people when they ask me how I'm doing. Because the truth is you're never truly okay when you're grieving, and it will never truly heal, but what's important is that you don't lose yourself in your grief.
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