February 23, 2011

  • Tiger Daughter

    Louise was my homestay mom when I spent my summer in Quebec. I remember she was crying as I boarded the train back to Vancouver. I dream about being in her arms again. Arzeena is a local food security advocate who teaches her kids to say NO when other people offer them McDonalds. Her brand of activism is clearly maternally motivated. 

    I have a Naomi Klein playlist on Youtube. She is clearly one of the most brilliant and beautiful women on the planet; the most perfect mixture of intellect and sweetheart. Dr. Cross is the professor whose influence caused me to become feminist. She's about the same age as my mom. It was Dr. Cross I went to when I felt demoralized about my activism; she taught me that hope isn't always necessary when you have a job to do. 

    Society obsesses so much about the almighty father figure that I think it underestimates the importance of its counterpart. Or, we assume it's always there. 

    When the arguments get really bad at home, my mom likes to say to me, "Don't call me 'ma'. I am not your ma." She's clearly a madwoman, undeserving of my patience, but still I try to work things out with her. I don't strike back. I try to maintain a semblance of dialogue. 

    But today I wasn't in the mood to try anything so I yelled back: "No. YOU stop talking to me. You're not my ma."

    She shut up for once; I don't know if it was out of surprise or burning hatred, but she shut up and left the house. I went upstairs and cried over my laptop. 

    But a part of me felt liberated.