FAMILY
My early life was magical. I was born on the islands where family, land, and sea meant everything, and were all we needed to survive. My grandmother was a tall woman with a strong presence and a big personality, who loved making people happy. She was kind and loving, always helping others wherever she could. Our tiny house was a shelter for anyone in need and was often full of people. She earned very little working as a woman’s healer and if her customers couldn’t pay, she’d say, “Don’t worry. Drop it off for us the next time you’re passing by and have something to spare.”
She was a great storyteller and the life of every gathering. Our tiny house sat at the top of a hill overlooking the ocean, with a backyard full of fruit and vegetables—my playground. We would lie under the stars on hot, balmy nights, listening to my grandmother tell stories. All of us kids would fight to be close to her. She’d yell, “You kids, I’m too hot! Give me space!” But I knew she loved having us nearby. I remember wrapping myself around her legs, holding on tightly. She was my world, my life force.
When she passed, I moved to Queanbeyan, Australia, to be with my mother. It was the middle of winter, and I was unable to speak the language. From the moment I arrived, I felt like my previous life had disappeared.
My mother’s torment began almost immediately. She was filled with resentment and loathing towards me, that I had never encountered before. As a child, it’s hard to understand how someone could feel that way about you, especially when you’ve only known security, love, and laughter.
I could never do anything right in my mother’s eyes, from the tone I used when speaking to how I laughed. It seemed that everything about me seemed to grate on her nerves. I’m still not sure how I survived. To say my world was turned upside down is an understatement. I still vividly remember my father yelling, “You will only speak English in this house.” As a result, I learnt English as quickly as I could. Looking back, I realise this is when my survival instincts kicked in. It was also when my confusion about love and being loved began. I saw my mother as a monster, yet I desperately craved her love. I longed for the same affection and nurturing she showed my sisters, but I now realise that she simply couldn’t give that to me.
I once heard a doctor speaking on a podcast say that you can grow up in the same house as your siblings, yet you can be raised differently and have entirely different experiences. I didn’t see it at the time, but later understood that each of my sisters had their own battles with her too.
My relationship with my mother has its challenges, but I chose to forgive so I could find peace in my life. Today, I believe having some distance between us is healthy. As time passes, I’ve come to realise that our feelings toward each other are ever-changing and could be completely different tomorrow.