About A Little Fight

I just had a little fight with my mom.

Well, I know it’s not appropriate to talk about it here, but I just feel that I need a platform to write it down. So, be it.

It happened a couple of hours ago. Actually it wasn’t even considered as a fight, it was more likely like an argument. About what was wrong, what was right, what I should do, what I shouldn’t do, why did I have to do that, and why couldn’t I have done that.

And also, to warn her (and everyone, too) that each person IS different. We shall not generalize them. What we think the best, not always the best for them, too. Universe indeed is weird. But those who generalize things in the hella same spectrum are the weirder. That was my thought. Tell me again, I might be wrong. But I live my own life with this. If there should be something to be blamed, then just blame. We live with our own, too. Different ways, most definitely.

I never liked arguing with people. So mostly, when people start arguing about something, I just step back. Never ever wanted to get involved. I always make myself busy, even only with unpopular songs flowing to my ears through the earphones.

Including this so-called-argument.

When it comes to the family, what can you do? Step back and plug your ears with the earphones and set the highest volume? Ha-ha, come on. You don’t want your name gets erased from the family tree.

You would just listen. And do nothing. Because interrupting only makes the argument hotter and seems to be unstoppable. When you raise your voice, it won’t be heard. (occasionally, though). You are only making it worse. So shut up.

I was trying. Very hard. When it comes to others, I would just smirk and think they’re an idiot.

And realize it later that the idiot was me the whole time.

Ha.

I was trying to pull myself together. I never liked arguing with people. And I hate arguing with the ones I love the most.

So, yeah. This ‘little fight’ ended up with me writing this. And her got angry with me for what I hadn’t done this whole afternoon at home.

I could accept her anger. I could accept her sayings. I could accept she refuses to talk to me for hours even though the distance between us was only an inch. Hit me, make me cry, I don’t care. I swallow it better than I did when I was 9 or 10 year old, anyway. I am fine. I will always be.

It’s always been her that I’ve worried about.

I may not exactly know what struggle she is having right now. And I know she is not a verbal person either. She may refuse to talk, but somehow, I always know.

This ‘little fight’ happens quite a lot. And we’re gonna be pretty fine in the meantime.

And I really hope so.

Being a non-verbal person sometimes is hard.

And being a sentimental bitch who always cries over such little things is harder.

And pretty sucks. Yeah.