My son- 3 years old- gave me the nail polish yesterday. The red nail polish. He asked me if I wanted to "colour" my toe nails. I asked him back: do you want mommy to colour her nails? Yes, yes please he said excitedly. We sat down and did some painting on my toe nails together. When it was all done, he told me "look mommy, you are now even more beautifuler".
I was there with him but I wasnt present. I was thinking about my childhood. My mom was sad most the time. It was war, there was no money and even with money there was not much out there with all the sanctions. My dad had to work away from home. There was so much family drama and trauma and political nonsense.
And my mom? A beautiful young woman with three young kids with very limited resources in a male dominant society who had to raise her children on her own. When I think back I remember her sitting at the kitchen table, listening to some sad music, smoking the unbearable burden away with never ending tears on her face.
My son asked me if I wanted to "colour my hand nails" as well? I said no, not now sweetheart.
Why he asked.
Because I have to go to work tomorrow and I cant I told him.
He looked at me puzzled. I looked at his eyes and the journey in childhood was over. I was back. To here. To Canada. Where I CAN wear nail polish to work.
I corrected myself: oh! mommy is being silly. Of course we can colour my hand nails together but it's getting late now. Why dont we try it some other time?
You know? Where I come from, we were not allowed to have nail polish at some work places, all universities and schools, and for a long time even on the streets and when it came to clothing and school uniform, the only colours we were allowed to wear were back, grey, dark blue and brown. You want to know why? because it was beautiful and would make men horny. You want to know how old we were? As young as 6 years old all the way to university.
I can't stop thinking about my mom. It must be painful to want to be happy but not being allowed to. It must hurt really bad to watch your children watch you cry... day and night... night and day.
And I know I can never live life free of my past. It is in every breath I take.
