Hate Me

 

 

Have you experienced songs that speak to your soul, that you internalize and match with your personal joys or struggles? I was driving to work this morning when my iPhone played Blue October's 'Hate Me'. I have the phone jacked onto the car's stereo system, by the way. I haven't heard this song for quite some time, but I've always loved it, right from the start. Needless to say, my eyes glistened with pooling tears as I drove. Why, you ask? Do I tear that easily?

I hope this post will answer those questions.

I'm not the easiest person to love; mostly because I don't love myself. While I have a sometimes-inflated sense of self-worth, I don't value my life as much as I should. I have a strong feeling when I die, I'll end up in hell. Maybe they'll reduce my sentence for good behavior (I can always hope, can't I?). When I was twelve, going on thirteen, I had attempted suicide. Maybe at that time I didn't really mean to die, but I was so desperate to get out of boarding school I was willing to do anything. When I woke up from the drugged sleep, I saw something that made me vow that no matter how bad things get, I would never resort to suicide. Not again.

I saw the fear, the hurt, the disappointment in Mama's eyes.

Hate me today
Hate me tomorrow
Hate me for all the things I didn’t do for you

For those of you who haven't had the pleasure to meet my mother in person, let me tell you a few things about her. When she was working, she used to wake up the earliest, and then she would wake us up one by one to get ready for school. In the car, she'd talk to my dad about her friends at work. Or she'd be dozing off. For lunch she would have bread or leftover food from the day before, and seldom bought lunch for herself. She would buy dishes and one of us would cook rice; that was our usual dinner schedule growing up. After she cleaned and cleared the dishes, she would wind down in front of the TV, and she'd end up sleeping halfway through her favorite drama.

She loves dressing up for any occasion. Even now, having worn the hijab since January 1, she makes sure she's fashionable. She loves it when people ask about her age, and she's one of the rare women who don't hesitate to tell their actual age. Mostly because people invariably exclaim how young she looks, with grown-up children (and a granddaughter) to boot. She is vain; then again, so are all her three children (and her granddaughter).

She doesn't hesitate to ask the caterers for takeout, especially when she finds the food amazing. She's always thinking about her children. Always. She haggles for the cheapest rate a seller can offer, and then she'll haggle for an even lower price.

She bakes the wickedest chocolate cake, and her laksa Johor and spaghetti are to die for. And the chilli-tauchu crabs--I'm allergic to crabs, but they're my favorite! She's an excellent cook, but somehow her fried rice is weird. I always eat her fried rice with a glob of thousand island dressing.

She speaks English with an accent, and she inserts Rs where they don't belong. We love teasing her about that. Whenever she sings along to a song, we'll always ask her if it's an old song (even when it's newly-released).

She makes friends as easily and as naturally as she breathes, even with random aunties or uncles when we're at a taxi stand.

She's one of those people who you can immediately tell are beautiful both inside and out.

Hate me today
Hate me tomorrow
Hate me for all the things I didn't do for you

Mama always has this impossibly high expectation from me, no matter what I do. Maybe because she already knows I can be great when I want to. All my childhood was spent trying to please her, because I had always been observant even when I was a child. I knew the sacrifices she made for the family, and all I ever wanted was to wipe the tired lines from her face and to make her smile. But somehow whatever I did was never enough. Kasha and Faiz were not academic achievers, so Mama dumped all her pressure on me. At one point, during undergraduate years, I reached a breaking point and decided not to do things to get Mama's approval, because it was pointless.

And like a baby boy I never was a man
Until I saw your blue eyes cry and I held your face in my hand
And then I fell down yelling “Make it go away!”

Then I looked at her sleeping in front of the TV, the years slowly creeping along the edges of her face, and I was immediately brought back to the quiet evening when she straightened my school uniform before I left for boarding school after spending a weekend at home. She was kneeling in front of me, her hands lingering on my shoulders, and she told me that she wanted a better life for me. I was her hope; she knew I could do it.

And she's right. All her children are university graduates. All of us are good at what we do. Kasha is brilliant at copywriting and graphic designs, Faiz is a visionary photographer and videographer, and I'm pursuing Neurosurgery and writing. She brought us up to be atypical Malays, to converse in English with a slang and on occasion a misplaced R, to be open-minded like her.

I think about death, maybe more than is healthy. Maybe it's a part of me, maybe it's because I face death so often. If anything, I want to die before the people I love do, so that I don't have to face living on without them. And as much as I don't want to, I think about life without Mama, without her smile, without her mothering nag, without her presence. I always pray that she'll remain young and vibrant for at least fifty years to come.

Most of all, I don't want to lose her with things I didn't get to do for her. Just like in this song, it's okay if she no longer loves me, if she ends up hating me. Just be there to hate me tomorrow.

I cannot express how much I love her, how much I appreciate the things she did for me, even when I hated her for pushing me too far. I know that in our own ways, all three of us love her almost as much as she loves us. Kasha understands her in a way only a woman does with another. I love her with a natural sense of duty. Faiz, although he hates showing it, loves her the most. He doesn't show his feelings, but Mama makes him explode with anger, makes him jump with excitement, makes him distraught when she's disappointed in him. And he's the first one to ask what to buy for Mama whenever we eat outside.

In a sick way I want to thank you
for holding my head up late at night
While I was busy waging wars on myself,
you were trying to stop the fight
You never doubted my warped opinions
on things like suicidal hate
You made me compliment myself
when it was way too hard to take

Why am I writing this now? Why don't I save this post for Mother's Day or for Mama's birthday?

Because I don't want to take things for granted. I don't want to do it too late. I don't want to regret not showing Mama how much I love her when she's still healthy and vibrant.

Faiz, if you're reading this, maybe now you'll understand why I always listen to Mama, why I almost always do whatever she asks of me.

I don't want to lose her, but I don't want to live with regrets when I do.

 

Listen to the song again, this time accompanied by its lyrics:

 

(If you're sleeping are you dreaming
If you're dreaming are you dreaming of me?
I can't believe you actually picked me.)

(”Hi Justin, this is your mother, and it's 2:33 on Monday afternoon.
I was just calling to see how you ware doing.
You sounded really uptight last night.
It made me a little nervous, and a l... and... well... it made me nervous, it sounded like you were nervous, too.
I just wanted to make sure you were really OK,
And wanted to see if you were checking in on your medication.
You know I love you, and...
Take care honey
I know you're under a lot of pressure.
See ya. Bye bye”)

I have to block out thoughts of you so I don’t lose my head
They crawl in like a cockroach leaving babies in my bed
Dropping little reels of tape to remind me that I’m alone
Playing movies in my head that make a porno feel like home
There's a burning in my pride, a nervous bleeding in my brain
An ounce of peace is all I want for you. Will you never call again?
And will you never say that you love me just to put it in my face?
And will you never try to reach me?
It is I that wanted space

Hate me today
Hate me tomorrow
Hate me for all the things I didn't do for you

Hate me in ways
Yeah ways hard to swallow
Hate me so you can finally see what’s good for you

I’m sober now for 3 whole months it’s one accomplishment that you helped me with
The one thing that always tore us apart is the one thing I won’t touch again
In a sick way I want to thank you for holding my head up late at night
While I was busy waging wars on myself, you were trying to stop the fight
You never doubted my warped opinions on things like suicidal hate
You made me compliment myself when it was way too hard to take
So I’ll drive so fucking far away that I never cross your mind
And do whatever it takes in your heart to leave me behind

Hate me today
Hate me tomorrow
Hate me for all the things I didn’t do for you

Hate me in ways
Yeah ways hard to swallow
Hate me so you can finally see what’s good for you

And with a sad heart I say bye to you and wave
Kicking shadows on the street for every mistake that I had made
And like a baby boy I never was a man
Until I saw your blue eyes cry and I held your face in my hand
And then I fell down yelling “Make it go away!”
Just make a smile come back and shine just like it used to be
And then she whispered “How can you do this to me?”

Hate me today
Hate me tomorrow
Hate me for all the things I didn’t do for you

Hate me in ways
Yeah ways hard to swallow
Hate me so you can finally see what’s good for you
For you
For you
For you

[Children voices:]
If you're sleeping, are you dreaming,
if you're dreaming are you dreaming of me.
I can't believe you actually picked me

[Girl:] Hey Justin! [x12]

 

Have you told your mother how much you love her? Give her a hug, a call, a prayer. Don't hesitate to show your appreciation, your love, your respect.

I love you, Mama.

Comments

[shanaz]

Ever since I heard this song from years ago when situations in my life seemed bleak, I loved it. It's one of those songs that can make you feel like there's a lump in your throat for it tugs sweetly at your emotional heart.

P.S. I am a new fan of your site. Your writing inspires me.

S.

[your brother]

congratulations. you've just made me cry.

[Mama]

My dear son, you've made me cry again. No wonder I've been calling your name whenever I'm calling Faiz these few days, it's because you are thinking of me. ILOCHI.

[Dayana]

I never heard of the song but will do right after this.

You made me cry everytime you write about your family, especially your mom. She somehow reminds me of my mom and your words are somewhat exactly what I wish I could express to my mom.

I'm in my office, and tears are rolling down my cheek.

[Fadzlishah Johanabas]

Mama: Didn't know you'd read it so soon. Was expecting you to bake cookies today. Ilochi too.

Faiz: serius?

Shanaz: Thanks! I love this song, too.

Dayana: I hope you didn't get in trouble at the office. It doesn't matter how you express your love, just express it. That's what's important.

Hmm...what's with me and making people cry?

[Mama]

Faiz told me to read your post during sahor yesterday, so b4 I started preparing the dough, I visited your blog and thus, I was late. B4 I could finish mixing, heard Arwen screaming for me, took her down and no choice but to let her "help" me, lagilah lambat kerja mama.

[Aida Adnan]

Fadz
You, Leisha and Faiz are so fortunate to have her as your Mama. She is like a sister to me, someone that I can talk to and trust. Eventhough I only know her not that long since she joined the Bank, it feels like I have known her for years and what you have written about your younger years are not alien to me. We share so much within that period of time and I hope our friendship will continue. She is one great woman and I miss her company especially during my lunch and solat time and sending her home when you are on call :-)