I’m hating my mother today. Well, I know we get into fights everyday, and that in the end we always forgive each other, but, damn, this time I don’t think this will happen. Is it so selfish to ask your mother to let you be happy, to let you be you and not her? I mean, it is just a tattoo. What if she is against them, I like them and I’m eighteen, I can do what I want to my body. I can have sex, I can get tattooed and pierced, I can get drunk. Why must she has to live her life through me? It is not my fault that she never had a life of her own. But being my mother doesn’t give her right to live through me. I am me, not her. And I wear the clothes that I want to wear, and I date who I want to date, and I screw who I want to screw. I mean, yes we share a roof, but if I wanted, I could be living on my own, maybe I should.
Damn, of course I appreciate the advices and all that she has to say to me, but I’m not a baby girl anymore. I’m a grown up, I can take my own decisions. If they were right or wrong is for me to judge, not to her. But there is no right in the world for her to control my life. It is not about what she wants, it is about what I want, and right now, I want a tattoo, so I get one. And she makes a storm in a glass of water. By now she must have made an appointment to get it removed, but to hell with her. I want this tattoo, I love it and I’m gonna keep it. Isn’t mother’s love unconditional? Well, she can get mad, and everything, but it is my life. And if she wants to live again, well, get a divorce get some surgery and live life again. Rock with your dicks out, carpe diem, baby. But I ain’t gonna waste my one and only life by fulfilling her desires. How can she know what it is best for me? She can think she knows, but I hold the last word. And the last word, is that I’m keeping the tattoo. And I’m gonna live my life, carpe diem baby. And if she doesn’t like it, what is she gonna do? Hate me, not talk to me? Fine, I have friends that love me and will talk to me. Kick me out of the house? fine, I can live without them. I’m smart, powerful, and independent. I don’t need anyone but my self and a little help from my friends. Fucking Latin American thinking. If we were in Europe it all would be different. If I had gone to Europe as my father wanted, the story would be completely different. There mother’s love is expected to die once you turn eighteen. Then you are on your own. But no, I have to marry the rich bloke she chooses, because she likes him. Bloody retrogrades. I’m eighteen, I ain’t gonna marry my boyfriends from now. I just want to smile, have a good time, good sex and be loved. And I’ll get married with whom I want. Is it too much to ask to your own mother, to let you be happy? What’s wrong with the world people? Next year I’ll be so gone from this house. I know dad will support me.
I hate her, I hate her, I hate her. But I’m keeping this baby. This tattoo stays in my skin til the day that I die. And you can go fuck yourself mother.
