Between my Lahore and Chicago lives, it’s feast or famine. I am either constantly being told to eat almonds and report on my sleep and diet, – or nothing. I have all the space in the world, or none. If I complain about one, I am told to be grateful because the other state also exists. Is a moderate state not possible at all?
The sound of her anxiety about me is deafening. I am sick: I have some kind of bronchial issue now. Yes, I had perfect health for a whole month as I traveled Chicago-Istanbul-Makkah-Madinah-Lahore, and now, with 3 days left for return, I have a bronchial thing. An ugly voice. Cough.
My mother sits and watches me with her eyes clouded. Every few minutes she wants to know why I don’t do X or Y which would solve all my problems, why did I did X or Y, which caused all my problems.
I snap, and then I am left with the crushing boulder of guilt – BECAUSE THERE ARE 3 DAYS LEFT. I am only human. I am irritable. I am anxious about travel too, and the best I can do is push it aside, but not if my 87 year old mother is constantly needing to know a) if I am OK b) if I am lying that I am OK and c) what ways I am not OK.
The doctors tell me to rest my voice. At some point, I am going to tell the family to “Talk amongst yourselves.” I just want to be sad and anxious all by myself. I just want to deal with it by myself and not reveal it to my 87 year old mother who will soon be alone, and who is visibly fading.
My grief makes me furious. I’m glad my grief doesn’t make me teary because that would hurt her. But I wish I was less anxious myself and was capable of laughing and graciously accepting her concern. Decades of living with so much space, out in the cold West, have made me unused to so much constant concern. It rattles me. I can handle Ghost – sitting across from me in the room and watching me tenderly, then hopping to his feet when I pat my lap – but I can’t seem to handle real humans. Not humans with a real investment in my wellbeing. If they were just *professionals*- just Business Class stewards or spa staff, that would be perfect. This shows how the West has ruined my natural self. I am now an individual, truly alone, incapable of even handling my MOTHER’s tender CARE. What an unfortunate person. What a shitty person I am.
Shabana Mir's blog: Koonj - the crane 