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May 19, 2011
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        I do not believe, as is common, that age brings with it wisdom; my mother (and consequently, myself) are bright examples of how time does not cure the tendency to make irrational decisions. When I was a small child, I saw my mother as the brightest star in the evening sky; she was my light, my direction, my goddess. Any mistakes or unintelligent decisions she made were, in my mind, exempt from ridicule; being my mother, she was, of course, the epitome of perfection.
        Drawing closed the blinds of my childhood, I grew into the realization that my mother, as all others, was a flawed creature; her brilliant red hair came from a plastic bottle from the second aisle of the supermarket, and correspondingly, so did her self-worth. As I aged, it was forced upon me the degree to which she placed value in appearance; no test score could bring joy into her eyes the way it did when I placed aside twenty extra minutes in the morning to curl my hair and apply a touch of mascara.
        My mother seemed to embrace my teenage years. At the time, her enthusiasm perplexed me; in a way, it still does. Time has allowed me to contemplate her mentality to infinite degrees, however, and it is my firm belief that my experience of youth allowed her to relive her own, pushing me to be the daring and firm young woman she hadn't succeeded in being at such a time in her own life.
        We were, in our own ways, entrancingly beautiful; my mother saw beauty in herself by the wave into which her hair naturally fell, the soft, slick curve of her eyelids, the light, rough freckles that spastically dotted her light cheeks. I, too, found these to be the qualities in which she possessed the most astonishing quantities of beauty; the fact that she took pride in her physical features accentuated my realization that they were truly the most radiant part of her. In myself, my mother saw a subdued, straw-haired, rosy-cheeked child whose potential for beauty was infinite, but wasted by her lack of enthusiasm and effort. It remains true; the effort with which I attend to my appearance each day is, in fact, abysmal. However, in myself, I saw other delicate and wonderful qualities that she did not take the care to notice: my patience, eye for design, and bold opinions were what I considered, personally, to be redeemingly beautiful.
        Over the years, my mother and I gradually grew apart, time and distance only being incremental factors of our separation. The main wall that was contrived was the result of our wide and insurmountable differences, and though I was intent on its construction, I admit I was quite disappointed when she, too, appeared unscathed by it.
        We were much closer when I was a child, but I do not remember a time when, in all honestly, I truly loved her. Kisses were soft traditions from infanthood, with no depth to their light touches; hugs were warm and soft, but of no connection to each other. It seems, in my mind, as if I was always acting out expected actions, performing in a role that was never quite in sync with my mentality. There was something lacking in our relationship that has grown even more evident over the years: mutual love.
        I have no doubt that my mother loved having a child; it was evident in her frequent smiles, photographs, comforting words. Oftentimes, however, I find myself lost in grey memories and enveloped by hovering curiosities of whether she loved me at all. Her actions would suggest so, having continually nurtured me, doted on me, held me close; however, the impersonality of these motions drives me to question whether she did hold love for me in her heart, or whether she possessed solely the love of being a mother.
A piece I wrote today. Not part of any larger work, and not entirely sure what brought it on.
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Daily Deviation

Given 2013-11-26
To Be a Mother by ~typewritersandlaceA fascinating evolution of a little girl into a woman through how she sees and interacts with her mother. ( Suggested by poeticperfectionist and Featured by GrimFace242 )
:iconvorpalbeast:
VorpalBeast Featured By Owner Nov 28, 2013  Hobbyist Digital Artist
I'm crying so hard right now, you have written exactly our relationship. My mother has not even seen my 8 month old baby girl but once when she was born. My mom only lives an hour away and won't come see me. I don't have a car so I can't go see her. She was the best mom till I hit 8 and I was diagnosed with Devic's Disease which is like MS.After that we start growing further and further apart. I love her but it's a have to love. Me and my father however truly love each other. That is why it hurts me so bad to know that my mom and i don't have that. Thank you so much for writing this. As i was reading it i could see so much of my confusion on the subject reveal its self. You have really helped me see and thank you soo much
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:icontypewritersandlace:
typewritersandlace Featured By Owner Nov 30, 2013
I am so sorry to hear that. A baby is a beautiful thing and she is missing out on such a huge part of your life. However I hope you can grow and learn from your relationship with your mother and be a great parent to your daughter, as I know you will be. Thanks so much for taking the time to read and comment. :)
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:iconrodtheworm:
rodtheworm Featured By Owner Nov 27, 2013
I'm so glad this is filed under fiction. :iconsadplz:
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:icontypewritersandlace:
typewritersandlace Featured By Owner Nov 30, 2013
Me too.. :) However it's not the case for some people, as I can tell from the comments...
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:iconlikakinsky:
LikaKinsky Featured By Owner Nov 27, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
Hm... Sometimes people really feel themselves lonely despite the fact, that other think about them, take care of them. All these seems lie, but if other people become indifferent to a person, he or she will be really unhappy and sooner or later he/she will understand it. 

You've made me think about this. Thanks)
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:iconlazy-lil-king:
lazy-lil-king Featured By Owner Nov 26, 2013  Student General Artist
I wish it was so simple with my own mother, although in ways it's so... eerily similar to my own life, just not as painful as it is subtle as stated here.
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:iconmina12310:
mina12310 Featured By Owner Nov 26, 2013  Student General Artist
bravo 
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:iconkuku88:
kuku88 Featured By Owner Nov 26, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
So I read the whole thing, and I must say; that was a very well-done short story. The main thing that bothered me at times were the big words; but maybe that's just because I'm a 14-year-old used to writing with words that aren't as...advanced. Not that I don't remember what they mean; just I never remember them while writing. 

Anyway, brilliant job. The subject is a touchy one, but you did a pretty good job. Sometimes I've wondered that too, but my mother and I are close. We may not kiss and don't hug as much as I hug my dad, but we can talk like sisters and I know I love her. For those out there who feel this way with their mothers, it's a little sad; but I understand what you mean. 
But with my mom, it's the opposite. Good test scores make her happy, while my dad wishes I'd wear more girly clothes. My older brother wants me to be more girly in terms of becoming more popular. xD

Congrats on the DD! Seeing as this piece is form 2011, I'll be checking out the rest of your gallery. :D
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:icontypewritersandlace:
typewritersandlace Featured By Owner Nov 30, 2013
Thanks so much for taking the time to read and leave such an in-depth comment! I haven't been active on the site lately but I'll be adding some new pieces seeing as how my page has exploded in the past few days. Thanks so much for the comment... it means a lot! :)
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:iconmetal-goddess:
Metal-Goddess Featured By Owner Nov 26, 2013
this is amazing!!!
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