#mama-san

[ok-latte]

Just before I read anymore about Madara, I wanna post my first impression of Madara.

My writings have no meaning.

Also, headcannon of how Madara left Ryuseitai 

coz plz no more RyuseiDrama 

please.

[acceptancepending]

i told my mom about applying to stanford. about how i’m miraculously ranked first in my class. about how i started tutoring so i could look better on my application. about how i auditioned for sandy so that i could look better on my application.

silence, but i didn’t look at her. because if i couldn’t see her, she might not be disappointed.

finally, she said, “and you got sandy?”

“technically,” i said, but only because she already knew. “technically, but it doesn’t matter, because i’m sick, remember? what a shame.”

“you’re as ‘sick’ as alexander hamilton is ‘satisfied’-”

“nice, mama-san.”

“-so what exactly are you avoiding?”

i didn’t want to tell her about theater friend, so i said, “i only got it because the director went to stanford and knew i was applying. that’s all. i didn’t deserve it.” and even better, because it wasn’t a lie. “i would’ve screwed up the whole thing. do you wanna hear about how i messed up greased lightning during rehearsals? you’d love it, i-”

“and what about stanford? did you get in?”

“it doesn’t matter,” i said. “so listen, i was late to rehearsal, and i didn’t-”

“moira.”

“-realize that they had started, so i-”

“did you get in?”

i groaned. “it doesn’t matter, mom.”

“of course it matters.”

“no, it doesn’t, my entire application was a lie, so it doesn’t mean anything, it doesn’t change the last eighteen years, it doesn’t change who i am, so it doesn’t matter, now listen to my hilarious story about greased lightning and forget about stanford because i’m sorry, mama-san, but i’m a joke, and jokes weren’t made to get into stanford, jokes weren’t made to keep people around, jokes were made to be laughed at for half a second and glossed over and forgotten, so laugh and forget and-”

and suddenly my mom hugged me, which wasn’t a laugh.

“you’re not a joke,” she said. “you weren’t made to be laughed at or forgotten. you’re-”

“right,” i said, “no, you’re right, i was a mistake, i wasn’t made for anything.”

a brief silence. “don’t say that.”

“it’s true.”

“don’t you dare say that,” she said. “is that how you feel?”

oh god, i didn’t want to talk about this anymore, i didnt want to see her look at me that way. that look was exactly why we didn’t talk, why we hadn’t said anything real to each other in the past eighteen years. so i pushed her away and smiled big, and i laughed, and i tossed my hair over my shoulder, and i said, “psh, mama-san, i’m just playing with you, you know the world revolves around me.” and i smiled sweetly, like i believed a single word i said.

“good,” my mom said. “because maybe you weren’t part of my plan, but you’re not a mistake, and you’re not a joke. you’re intelligent, and you’re big-hearted, and you’re so, so, so afraid of not being good enough for anyone that you’d rather hide in here than face the world.”

“mom, i’m not-”

“yes, you are. you always have been. because that’s how i raised you. because i let my guard down when i was twenty and let a man shatter my heart and change my life forever, and i didn’t want the same thing to happen to you.” 

a long pause.

“and no, moira, the world can’t stab you in the back if you’re always running away from its extended arms, but running away gets tiring, and sometimes it’s just looking to give you a hug, and sometimes the pain is worth it. you’re my proof. you weren’t a mistake, you weren’t an accident, and i’d trade away any success i would have had on broadway if it meant you weren’t with me, because you, my dear, are the greatest success i could have ever dreamed.”

it helps but it doesn’t but it does

[acceptancepending]

mama-san knows everything

[the sick girl in tonight's production will be played by moira.]

[mom knocks on my door, comes in without waiting for a "come in" or "go away." i'm under the covers and try to look miserable. i think of the fact that theater friend is probably killing it as sandy as we speak, and that makes me sick enough]

mom: you had a visitor. [hands me a tupperware container]

me: wow, my good friend tupper- is that chicken parm? [i start eating immediately. mmm.]

mom: it was that boy again

me: [stop] you're kidding me. he's supposed to hate me, mama-san, i swear

mom: i know

me: i did my best

mom: i know

me: how am i supposed to...tell myself it doesn't...that he doesn't...if he just...

mom: i know. [pause.] he had a message for you.

me: something infuriatingly sweet and sincere, right?

mom: yes, actually.

[and i suddenly missed him more than i liked]

mom: he said he hopes you get better in time to "break a leg" in grease, and he's sorry about stanford.

[shit]

mom: do you want to explain any of that?

me: ...not particularly

[acceptancepending]

my mom told me the whole story

she was getting a degree in poetry, telling her parents it was a degree in biology, all the while acting in every play she could in the hopes of being “discovered”. that summer, she was juliet in a community theater production of romeo and juliet--and she found herself charmed by her romeo. he was a little older, pursuing law, the most intelligent person she’d ever met... 

but it wasn’t until a year later, and three months into a pregnancy, that she found out he was also “happily married” and “not sure what he was thinking.” he had a lapse in judgment, he said. this was a mistake, he said. 

so her parents disowned her. she dropped out of school because she couldn’t pay for it. she moved out here, to the middle of nowhere, picked up any job she could get. started over. left the world of poetry because poetry wasn’t going to feed her daughter or keep her safe. continued to act but only to say, “we’re fine.”

[acceptancepending]

mom: that's the second time i've seen you with that boy.

me: it's nothing. i just tutor him.

mom: uh-huh.

me: mama-san, it's emphatically nothing more than that.

mom: don't call me "mama-san," and don't pretend with me. i saw the way he was looking at you.

me: he wasn't- he doesn't- how was he looking at me?

mom: the same way your father used to look at me

[she inhales sharply, like she didn't mean to say it. but not like she didn't mean it.]

me: ...

mom: ...

me: okay. i'll handle it.

[acceptancepending]

it’s thanksgiving and grasshopper didn’t want to be home because it’s the first thanksgiving without his twin brother and he didn’t think he could really handle it, so he wanted to distract himself with tutoring, and instead of saying “let’s go to the library” i invited him to the apartment where i live where i’ve never invited any of my friends. 

because what a great opportunity to totally reveal all of my life’s secrets?

luckily, that didn’t happen. i helped him with an english essay for all of five minutes--it was good, it was perfect, he doesn’t need me--and then we talked. and i’ve been trying not to talk to him so much trying not to encourage any of this because he doesn’t need me, but i can’t talk to friend1 anymore and i can’t talk to theater friend and i can’t talk to my ap friends and yes i can talk to tumblr but it’s just not the same 

so grasshopper and i talked 

we talked about agents of shield and hamilton (i found out somewhat recently that he’s kind of secretly-not-so-secretly into musicals please kill me) and everything but nothing we talk like ninety words per minute but we don’t really say anything except at the end of it all i said i was thankful for spotify and he said he was thankful for netflix and i said i was thankful for schrodinger’s cat and he said he was thankful for me.

i’m thankful for you too is what you’re supposed to say when you feel that way but i couldn’t do it i couldn’t say it because he didn’t feel that way he couldn’t feel that way he didn’t need me i’m the one who needs him he doesn’t even know me he can’t be thankful for me 

so i just said, “haha what?”

and he looked at me seriously and my heart did a backflip and he said “moira, i-”

and then a key turning in the front door, my mom saying, “i have thirty minutes for lunch, even if we can’t do thanksgiving dinner we might as well...hello.”

and it was all very civil. grasshopper introduced himself. my mother said “nice to meet you.” i explained that i was tutoring him. very academically and scholarly. and he said he didn’t want to intrude, so he left and i was saved.

[acceptancepending]

hobbies: telling people how sorry i feel for myself on my tumblr blog which i access through the internet that my mom pays for by working 2 jobs

[acceptancepending]

quitting my job, part 2: more truth comes out

and then i got home like twelve hours earlier than normal, and my mom was about to leave the apartment, humming what i’m sure was “any moment” from into the woods. 

she jumped, asked me what i was doing home so early, and i couldn’t think of a good lie. i couldn’t. everything that jumped to mind was something like “the whole restaurant burned down” or “no, mom, it’s actually ten at night.” kid lies. kitties stuck in trees on fire. 

and i didn’t want to tell the truth, either, but it was just sitting there in my heart, taking up more space than it’s ever taken up, and i heard myself say, “mom, i quit.”

she looked angry for half a second, and she said something in chinese, and then she said, “moira-”

and then, she just stared at me for a minute, and i thought she was trying to detect a lie in my voice. but then she looked at her keys, jingled them a little.

i motioned for her to leave. “mama-san, just go to work, you can be mad at me later. i’ll do the dishes for the next week, or i’ll clean the house, or-”

and for the first time in eighteen years, she said, “no, we need to talk about this now.”

so we did, and “this” wasn’t even me quitting when we’re poor af--”this” was this: she was fired about 2 months ago. not a surprise, because the new manager at the grocery store is kind of racist, but she didn’t tell me because she thought she’d have something else soon enough. she’s been looking for more jobs, and asking for more hours at her other job (she’s a waitress at a 2-star mexican restaurant), but in the mean time, she thought she would get back into acting. so she did, and that’s why i saw her at the community theater last month. 

but we’re just scraping by and if i quit my job i won’t have anything for college and my mom was like, “so i’ll stop acting, i’ll find something, i promise,” and i was like “no, i can get my job back” (which was a lie) “or i can take a gap year or something, you don’t have to-” “yes i do, moira, it’s not fair to you to make you worry about this while you’re still in school. just focus on your grades and getting into college, okay?”

and that’s the story of how i ruined my mom’s life again