Fear and Choosiness

I can't help myself.

I just had an argument with my mother pertaining the food my sister's going to bring to school, for lunch, while my mother would be on a trip to davao, celebrating her mother's birthday.

We argued because she was already telling me not to serve my sister foods that we're typically our lunch meals because "she was sick of it already." I questioned my mother why she would allow my sister to choose other foods than the meals served at breakfast, which we're ready for lunch too. Thinking to myself, though there are times that we could choose or ask if we could have this certain meal for lunch the next day, we didn't, or more specifically, I didn't have that privilege to pick my foods for lunch everyday.

I raised that view to mother. She told me because I wasn't picky with the foods I bring to school. That any food that was presented there on the table, I would still eat. To those who don't know me, I was fatter in my earlier years because I was always forced to finish my food whether I liked it or not. I told her that wasn't true. I told her I would tell her at times, back then, what I wanted to eat the next day, but she wouldn't allow me those foods. Then she told me it was just like me hating eating okra or ampalaya. It's the same with my sister, she doesn't like to eat those foods for lunch anymore.

I told her it's nothing like that. I was forced to eat those foods day by day by day. She insisted that I like them.

I can not explain to her what I felt. The memories of my earlier years came rushing in. I lived in fear back then. Even after my mother changed, I still lived in fear of her. I can not explain to you all what my fear was. It's just plain fear. I'm not saying I was brutally physically abused by mother. I was just "punished" all the time. If I didn't follow what she liked me to do, I was punished. But not as grave as the stories of battered children out there. Again, I can not explain to you the extent and to top it off, I had ADHD. It's between me and my mother. It's the past. It's hard to open up a box you forced yourself to close.

It hurts because I can not tell my mother how I felt. I know she won't understand. Even as we argued, she didn't understand.

My sister was... let's just say, I was the experimental child rearing while my sister was the actual thing... but now, with less... more than 50% less of what had happened to me. That is why I can't stop comparing myself to her. My sister never believes what I say because whenever I tell her something mom wants us to be or do, she can get away with it, because she never felt the pressure of doing it out of fear. I'm not saying she wasn't punished. She was just punished lesser than me or when her attitude was grave enough that she had the guts to do it to our mother too, which was always the last person she tested the waters on.

Ergo, her pickiness ( if there's such a word) with food stayed. Mom just let it stay with her.

So that is what I mean I can not explain my feelings to my mother. It may also be out of jealousy. I won't deny it. I am jealous. I'm jealous of my sister regarding so many things in life. One of them is this. The privilege of choosing the food she wants to eat.

At the same time, I'm thankful too that my sister never lived in fear and experienced all the things I went through. Heck, I don't want anybody to feel what I felt.

It's just that sometimes, she's not aware how lucky she is. I just want her to listen to me. I want my mother to listen to me.

Fear is different and totally far off from being choosy.