the robot son

I eat whatever she cooks me, I consume what groceries she buys me, I'll take what money she leaves me. Because isn't that what she wants? To take care of me? It's all she wants, isn't it? At least that's what my sister told me, that's our fucked up Asian culture raised in me. She can cook for me, feed me, get me groceries, let me live with her. Everything she wants, as far as what your typical ethnic mom wants. I give her all that.

Except me.

I've denied her myself. She has my love but I've taken from her my engagement, my attention, my expression. I have nothing to say to her, nothing to show her, nothing to share of myself with her. She still and will always have a boy who loves her. But that boy now merely mechanically accepts the things she offers him, and he in turn gives her nothing but the satisfaction of knowing he is physically alive because of her.

I can't speak to her. I can't look at her. I can't acknowledge her.

I trusted her. She's my mom. I thought she would never say that to me.

She has committed a grave mistake with me. She crossed the line. She hurt me profoundly.

Until she deeply apologizes to me, she has merely my undying devotion - as the robotic son.