Home is where He is

For as long as I can remember, I have always longed to move out.

Although the reasons for my wish has changed, the wish itself hasn't. Not that I do not love my mum, but because there are fundamental differences in our beliefs and values, and my recent change only plies open the wedge between us. While I can perfectly understand her good intentions, it doesn't mean I agree with it. I don't think I can continue to live with somebody who constantly asks me to be selfish, who constantly suspects that I have some psychiatric disorder, who constantly needs my attention.

Recently, I have been thinking that maybe if I move out, she will learn to become more independent. Maybe if I stop trying to play the counsellor, she will stop thinking that she is depressed. Maybe if I stop trying to play the role of a mediator at home, the communication (or lack of communication) between them would improve and their relationship would blossom. Maybe I have overcompensated for too long, that I have become the biggest stumbling block to their growth. While I know that nobody is indispensable, yet I cannot help but worry what might happen if I were to remove myself from the triangle.

If only He would be the wind that rocks the tree and causes the branch to snap off from the trunk. If only He would be the butterfly that extracts the pollen grains from the anther to scatter on a foreign ground. If only He would be the tide that sweeps the driftwood onto the shore. If only He, the sole supplier of joy, would never ever cut His supplies from his child.