My mother and me.

My mother and me.

By Ollie

So, this weekend I finally got round to watching ‘Everything Everywhere All at Once’, and as expected, it was incredible. Tarantino style fight scenes, an original plot and trippy vfx, very up my alley. But what resonated with me most about the movie was the mother-daughter relationship between Evelyn and Joy. Coincidentally, I had done this TikTok trend where you put pictures of your mother when she was younger against those of you as a child to ‘A Drag Path’, by 21 Pilots. So, as you can imagine it was quite an emotional day.

The basis of the movie is that Joy, is a young queer person, struggling with existential dread and nihilism whilst fighting with her traditional, conservative and small-minded mother. This is something which I can relate to from my own experiences growing up. I have always been a deep thinker, and from as early as I can remember, I was always floored by the idea that everyone I love including myself would die one day. That we only have such a short amount of time to find meaning in our lives before being forgotten forever.

I never felt like I fit in, and my neurodivergent personality, paired with a budding queerness caused me to feel ostracised in the world as though I would never find a place to be myself. When I would look for a source of comfort, I was met with my mother. A practical, rational and domineering woman. Someone who didn’t have time nor interest to think about the ever-expansiveness of the universe, its origins or its meaning. In her own reassuring way, she’d tell me to not think about it and instead focus on the mundane. Causing us to fight for many years.

I will say in contrary to the film, I don’t come from an immigrant background, my family have never had financial problems, and I wouldn’t say that I’ve ever had severe prolonged depression. So, I’m sure that I can’t fully relate to Joy’s problems. However, my mother, as those who know her are aware, is a very difficult personality who often can come across as cold and unloving. It is just her way. Although finding old photographs of her and compiling them with my own made me think about the lives we have shared intertwined. And the life that she had before me.

In a similar way to my nan dying recently and me seeing a box with a seemingly unimpressive woman and realising the life she lived and the thoughts and dreams she left behind. I’m sure my mother also had these aspirations. I think about her life at my age, how different would it have been to mine, more scarily, how similar. We both love to travel and languages, but she never got to finish her degree. Whereas I graduated and completed a year abroad. She was always in a relationship, one that broke her, whereas I have no one to tether me. She probably never thought about wearing a pair of trousers and a suit whereas I have already explored my own gender identity.

There was one photo, in which she couldn’t have been older than 30, on a holiday to France posing beside the Eiffel tower. Glasses, a choppy fringe and an outfit she’d never wear now. No wrinkles, no frown, almost unrecognisable. It really resonated with me. Thinking about once again the Fig Tree poem in The Bell Jar. How could her life have branched off in different ways. The academic, the power boss, the creative. Instead of these things, she chose to become a mother, a teacher, and a dutiful wife/ daughter. This relates back to the movie, as the branches of her tree act as multiverses in which the slightest change in decision, can lead to drastic differences.

Whilst I’m sure that my mother would’ve made a fabulous translator, or a leader or pioneer of some sort. I am glad that she chose to have me. And now, her dreams live on through me. It’s the idea of finding happiness in the mundane, and choosing a content simple life, over a brilliant yet isolated one. This makes me think deeply of my own future, and the decisions I might make which will impact my journey. Whilst our relationship is still imperfect, and sometimes I wonder if we will ever find peace. I feel as though I’ve gained a great sense of respect and admiration for her. As if seeing these glimpses of the past, served a reminder of a complete woman, who despite sexism, nihilism and limitations, chose and ran with her own destiny.

I might not be able to tell her any of this quite just yet. But I want her to know, that I can understand why she made the decisions that she did. And perhaps, instead of being born cold and unfeeling, somewhere down the line, life made it more difficult for her to enjoy living. Whilst rational and sensible, I believe we all could benefit from a certain sparkle of whimsy, of queerness and a Joye de vivre. Thanks, mum, for everything you’ve done.

-          Your son.


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