i’ve been on this series for a few months now. i remember first having the idea that i wanted to write on love.
love, love, what connects us to other human beings, other animals, the universe, faith, to ourselves. i was curious to find out what it is about love and connection to others that the human being is so attached to. why do we long for touch and connection, and what does it do for us?
i realize now why the curiosity. i think i was trying to reconcile with myself and my own needs for this connection i was seeking with in myself.
unconsciously embracing myself and the only way i could do it, is if i set it up to be some sort of writing project where i spoke to other people about their own connection and needs for love so that i would not feel alone.
this afternoon, my mother, father, and niece and nephew came over to celebrate my 29th birthday with me. the traditional Costco pizza and the 3 leches cake was bought and since we do not see each other that often, we caught each other up on everything to do with everyone and everything in our lives. we had such a lovely time that the document(er) in me wanted to capture the moment. so i brought everybody in front of the computer to take a few photos.
what i wanted to capture is the feeling i felt having everyone over at my place. my mom taught me the importance of building a sacred home, one that you want to come home to that is decorated warm and inviting for family and friends to enjoy and feel comfortable in. i long for the same kind of home that in her complicated ways she tried to create for our family. my father never really understanding why the new couch set or the new vase or why at sporadic times of the year he would come home to the furniture all rearranged.
it was my mother desperately trying to do two things. the first is create a home within the craziness of life. and the second more obvious reason, was to take control of her life, take back any power she could get her hands on. you see, unlike her offspring, my mother can’t look back at her life and say, “yes, i loved and i was loved.”
maybe that is why i search for love everywhere i go. to make up for the love that my mother did not feel she got.
ay esa meloncolia. i bet she slept with my mother too. i could imagine how difficult it must have been, my mother trying to navigate her own emociones como humana, como mujer, ON TOP of managing 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, kids’ developing emotions as well.
que mundo tan mas raro.
so as i continue to embrace both my mother and myself, my heart expands and there is less resentment, less questions, and simply just more opening for all possibilities, for all worlds to fit on our little picnic table as we share about our lives and love for our family.