Sometimes I wish I could understand people from all levels of mind. I wish people were more transparent about their thoughts. I wish people knew themselves better.
Mom is currently throwing a fit at the family because I had decided to donate her 25-year-old (brand new, mind you) Tupperware bag that smelt like dampness and insect fecal matter along with a list of other items from nooks and crannies to charity. She is throwing a fit at all of us because I did what I thought was best with the support from the rest of the family.
Do you know how much that bag costed? I need it to store my tupperwares! I have so many tupperwares! Where am I going to put them now?
Mom, what are you going to do with cupboards-full of tupperwares anyways? (And we are talking about three luggage-bags full).
I have tried many times to picture how my mom sees the world. It is sometimes so hard to be a hoarder. To see everything in measure of currencies and dollars. A rotting apple is, was, worth 50 cents. No matter what, it has to be savoured, milked to its money's worth. Wardrobes (three to be exact) filled with fashion ranging from when she was 20 to 55. Some never to be worn again.
It must be exhausting to keep in mind the value of every object you have ever owned in your life. It hurts to see her that way. It is affecting us all. There is no more room in this house for the living. She is driving us away from her because we are taking away what she has spent her money on for the last few decades. Are we so much more less worthy than every penny she has earned?
Mom and I, we never really get along well because I have always fought for the rest of us in this home. But I am finally getting tired. I have a life. And as filial as I'd like to be to my family, I am losing hope in finding a way out of the mess this family has accumulated. This is not my battle.
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