(This is a throwback series, I had written them and uploaded them here and there but now, I thought it was time, to compile them and study my growth. As a writer, a person. Most people don’t know this, but I have been writing since my 10th standard and had written my first blog post in 2015. Having never been popular most of them have gone unread. Anyway. Here’s the first of the throwback series written sometime in the December of 2015.
Dislaimer: Please don’t throw shade. At present, I, myself do not agree with everything I had written for I have grown and changed but I didn’t want to edit my thoughts as that would be a duplicitous way to chart my growth. Thank you.)
Dear Son,
When I was 16, I was really beautiful. I was wild and young and free. I made decisions and unmade them. Made promises and broke them. Made love and broke hearts. I never let anybody grow close enough to me. I was not made to be confined. I was born to be free.
So many boys wooed me. Silly boys, I tell you. After I crushed their hearts I even heard them make jokes about me to their friends and funnily enough, the very next day, another lad from that very group would approach me. I went out with them. Almost all of them. Told them the same stories about how I loved being free and about how I despised seriousness. It almost didn’t matter to them. None of them ever tried to make me stay. None. After a few days. I’d tell them I was bored and they left.
Then I turned 18. A few things changed. The sitting and talking in park benches changed to slightly dark alleys or empty classrooms. There were conversations and kisses. But those kisses almost meant nothing to me. They were a part of my freedom. My exploration. I broke so many hearts but the boys never gave up on wooing me and I never questioned why. I never did wonder why they’d still want to date me when all I wanted was nothing with them.
By the time I was 21, I had slept with quite a few men. They fulfilled my needs and I fulfilled theirs. Honestly, I never did feel immoral. I just did that because that made me feel like I was making my choices and handling them well. And men still continued to intrigue me. They seemed to love the one week flings. I don’t blame them. I loved them too. There were no attachments. I was free. No confinements.
When I was 25 I met your father. It was very regular. One Friday night he offered to buy me coffee after I returned his wallet that fell from his pocket while pulling out his handkerchief to show a little kid a tiny trick. That mug of coffee led to another mug of coffee and to months of mugs of coffees. After about three months of just going on coffee dates, I figured he wanted to stay. Mind you, your father was the only boy in my ever so colourful life that volunteered to stay. Years passed and many of the happiest things in my life happened. I got a job, I got married, you happened and I thought my life had been finally sorted. But a quest for something can be a bad thing.
Today you are 9 and I don’t expect you to understand all this. I don’t even want you to read this now but when you do please understand my abandoning you was not a choice. I was not made for this. I don’t want to cheat on you or your father. But I want to be free again. I want to go and explore. And I want you never to become like your mother. Be the man your father was to your mother but find a woman who isn’t driven by a quest or a thirst because they cannot be contained. Not forever at least. And dare you not believe in relationships. They happen all the time.
When you are 16 and brimming with handsomeness, remember who your mother wanted you to be and you will make the right decisions.
Love,
Mother.
Wimpy Wallflower 