I can only love and hate my mother, I think, a few conversations really don't solve the problem, but it's the same as in the movie - because I do feel that it doesn't mean that the two sides are hostile, nor It means that there is no family affection. On the contrary, it recalls the days when we were close and the state of closeness. It's just that more and more disapproval, disapproval, questioning, and collision of viewpoints make us truly feel that the other party is no longer the one we remembered. We all have our own viewpoints and specific ways of life. All came according to each other's temperament and wishes. If she hadn't been my mother, we would have gotten along a lot better. It is precisely because she is my mother that I cannot tell her many things. I am afraid that she will not accept it, that she will deny it, that she will not be able to bear it. Secrets aren't all selfish - how much selfishness can you have with your mother? But she's mean and I'm stubborn, when we live together for more than a week, we can't stand each other, she doesn't realize I'm an adult, and I should have forgotten, I'm his son this time thing. It's a growing up problem and a family problem, but I don't think it should be so difficult.
Hubert is obviously meaner than me, but I obviously don't use his thinking. I'm more paranoid and won't change my mind. In fact, I envy my hair and my cousin, they can tell their secrets to their mother freely, but I can't. After the passage of time, the relationship between my mother and me seems to be more of a family relationship of survival and obligation, giving money and cooking regularly, and I give my grades - although it is very general. I haven't had any special achievements in writing these years, so, in her words, my grades were not satisfactory, and my other abilities were not good enough. It was precisely because of my "writing" that I gradually started to do it myself. My own, all those "Gift to Son" words that my mother wrote on the title page of my book, all with tape. If you recall carefully, the intimacy between parent and child seems to have been lost a long time ago, until I didn't tell my mother any secrets, and she didn't tell me about the major events of the family. live their own lives. My father, when I was very young, went abroad to work in order to support our family, but his absence also made my character indecisive and reluctant to talk - and when he was there, he was at home every year. In the past month, I always quarreled, smashed the drawers and cabinets, once beat me from the store to my home, and once I cried and wanted to buy a toy from a hawker stall, he directly clicked the toy wrapped in plastic paper It was folded in half...and he was unemployed abroad and returned home in desperation, but he began to educate me, and judged my personality, behavior principles, and even my hobbies and dressing styles. At that time, it was the third year of high school. I slept for three hours a day, and the rest of the time I had insomnia. I yelled at him: "You are not qualified!"
And my mother, in addition to being mean and humiliating my father's family, is trying to control me, collecting my diaries, secretly written love letters, etc., but she never talks to me until I found out one day that so many of my secrets she had been secretly collecting - she just collected them and then didn't care. On top of that, she always makes decisions for me, buys me ugly socks, signs me up for messy classes, takes me to all kinds of weird dinners—all without my consent, and this phenomenon persists until I 19 years old, freshman year, still showing up. I also wanted to reason, but my mother was reluctant to reason. She always felt that what I said was pedantic and naive remarks in books, "books read for nothing." So my words and deeds became less and less in her eyes, until after a violent argument, anger and resentment all broke out, we roared at each other in the dining room, and then silently sobbed, and after a while, my mother said, she is really worthless I am.
After high school, my attitude towards my parents became more and more cold, and my love for my parents was mostly out of morality, the traditional virtues—the common virtues of human beings, filial piety to parents, loving parents, but when I was really insomnia and anxiety, no one understood When I was around, my parents told me that it’s good to be in the past, and that’s how everyone came. I resented their incomprehension, but it was also because I was unwilling to share my secrets - my secret work was getting better and better, so my mother and I became more and more strangers in each other's eyes .
My mother pulled me to grow up. I didn’t have a father, she was alone. When I was in my third year of high school, my mother cooked for me every day at five o’clock. But I was no longer the child in my mother’s eyes, and I also had my own life that I didn’t want to change. . And my mother, still immersed in the days of more than ten years ago, the me who babbled, the me who would only cling to her side and cry. She often complains that I'm not what I used to be, uglier, colder, more selfish, meaner...
Control seems to be a mother's nature, so I admit it, I admit it, but I'm very sad, I don't want to spend time with my mother in one fight after another, and I don't want my mother to treat me like this, not valuing me opinion, my opinion.
Living with other people always makes me uncomfortable, I hate being restrained, and I hate being watched by others, so I have always fantasized about being able to live in a small house by myself, without girls or pets.
When I was just ten years old, I really wanted to leave my family, my hometown and even my motherland. I wanted to study abroad and live my own life far away. This idea has been around for so many years, when I mentioned it. At that time, my mother always prevaricates by saying "we'll talk about it later". I was hesitant to tell her again, but in fact, we both understand that many things cannot be avoided at all, and what should come will always come.
At times like this, the vision of a perfect death comes to my mind—I finish my masterpiece in the way I believe in art, and then die. The thoughts were short-lived, but they kept jumping, and then I would ask myself, what's wrong, why is this happening again.
I want to leave, "Portrait of a Young Artist" I hold it as the book of my soul, just because it is the book of betrayal, the book of parting, the book of flight, as if my life had been re-enacted in a holy way, and then Write into history.
Even so, facing my mother, I still feel a little guilty. I want to leave, but I don't know what to say to my mother. do i love my mother? Love, but hate, I am indifferent to her, even mean, is this revenge for her unreasonable "love"? Having said so much, I want to love my mother. I envy my childhood friend who can talk about everything with my mother, but I don't want to face my mother, raise my head and say "I love you".
I can't say what Hubert said "je t'aime", my mother is mean, I am stubborn, but our destiny is still twisted together like two strands, from the first day, there is no end——
But after all, she is my mother, the mother who gave birth to me and grew up.
View more about I Killed My Mother reviews
