This is MOM
Today is mother’s day and I’m way too far away from mine to perform a cliché gesture of love, so here’s a blog post.
On MOM. (All caps. Mothers deserve caps lock)
This is a mom:
She’s neither my MOM, nor looks like MOM. But she’s a mom, or a stock footage of a mom. Google images apparently isn’t immune to social biases.
This is my MOM:
She’s damn pretty, isn’t she? (that’s a rhetorical question). MOM is currently many miles away from me, but we talk on a seemingly regular basis (she’d have it daily, though).
MOM is a workaholic. She has three bachelor’s degrees and a postgraduate one. She spent most of her life working in hospitals, though. I guess part of her really liked it, another part had to navigate capitalist society and make ends meet. Apart from that, MOM also does the chores at home, what amounts to double the work. I guess it is because our family, as many, profits from the low-key misogyny of ignoring chores until she does them.
What she really likes is being an artist. She is an actor who has been in a few plays when I was younger, then she moved on to singing, joined a choir, performed in a musical and nowadays, as she approaches retirement, MOM is enjoying being awesome singing and doing musicals and stuff. Whenever we are together at home, I put spotify on the speakers and we sing together loudly.
As you can see, I’m proud of MOM.
MOM is not your everyday free spirit artist stereotype though. She has a very practical mind and will often demand that I chose the most utilitarian approach. I love to call out the irony of it, as it is clear that I got all my “creative soup” from her.
MOM is a devoutly religious person. I’m not, but I love MOM, so I stand by her lifestyle choices.
MOM is more relaxed now that I live in the northern hemisphere, but usually, she is worried all the time. I blame it on a mix of abundant motherly love, and a tiny bit of city-induced paranoia. We often clash over it because I’m a very private person (or at least I used to be before this Medium-blog-thingy).
As I write this, it is already 16:37 in Rio de Janeiro, MOM is finishing her lunch (we are a family of night owls, we do everything late) and wondering why I haven’t called it. Gotta call now, bye.