'Mama' Calling

I wish the Caller ID technology had never touched my life.

(Some polyphonic tone, would be lying if I said Tring Tring)

'Mama calling', my phone read, blinking at me brightly like a psycho killer would, I'm guessing.

'What did you eat?'

I knew that was coming. It came five times a day, everyday, for the six years I've been living away from my parents.

Probably, I wouldn't be this irritant if I didn't know who was calling. I'd just give into the call like you give into fate.

Look, don't get me wrong. I love her, I mean, its a biological liability. You can't help but love your mom. She'll nag, she'll bug, she'll even rearrange your furniture, but well, she's Mummy.

“What did you eat?'

I will not answer that phone. I will NOT answer that phone.

'Mama calling'
My phone was still blinking at me brightly like a psycho killer would.

I've tried to talk to her, you know.

I've said, “Mama, I'm not a kid anymore.. I mean.. I know you think I am.. But trust me, I can look after myself.. You needn't keep calling to find out where I am, or what I'm doing. Or what I ate! You've gotta trust me!”
“Okay, okay. I know. You had food?”

Once, my mom said, “You know, Rae, our phone bill's gone too high this month.”
MUHAAAHHAAAA!!!!!

“I know, Ma. You know what? Don't call me five times a day. Call me once. Or twice. Maybe in the morning and then once at night to begin with.. then we can cut down after that?”
“Why?”
“Your bill's high 'cos you keep calling me..”
“So?”

“No, mama, I mean we can cut on costs.. I mean, Even I can't pick your calls all the time.. I'm in a meeting.. or at work.. so, we'll speak twice a day..”

“Hmm.. What did you have for lunch?”

There comes a time when you realize you've moved on. You still love home, but its now your parents'. Mom and Dad are now individuals, they have names besides 'Mom' and 'Dad'. And you begin to consciously see how you are pretty much like them in many small, significant ways, whether you like it or not.

In case you're wondering, my phone was still blinking brightly at me, like a psycho killer would, probably.

Its sad. Sad for her because she loves me so much she can't let go. Sad for me because she loved me so much I realized I can love myself more. Sad because she's holding onto me so tight, I can't breathe anymore.

But, dammit, I love her. I can't stand giving her details of what my digestive system has been through since morning, but, maybe I should tell her she means a lot to me, and if she wants me to be the grown-up she keeps idolizing, she needs to let me grow up, by myself.

“Hi, ma.”
“What took you so long?”
“I didn't see my phone ring.”
“What nonsense! You didn't pick my call even in the afternoon!”
“I didn't see it.”
“Rae, you're being very careless with your excuses. What were you doing?”
“Nothing, mama.”
“Talk to me, Rae! You don't talk to me anymore!”

Damn.

“Mama, how many different things can I tell you in a span of two hours everyday? You call me five times!”

Shouldn't have used that tone.

“Sorry, mama. Just worked up.”

I was glad she'd probably ask me something else now. But NO!

“Hmm. You handle your issues. You're too big for me to tell you what to do. What did you eat?”

I hate the Caller ID.