Where Reasons End

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• Perfect. Imperfect. A pair of adjectives that come over and over again, in all seasons, day in and day out, taunting us, judging us, isolating us, turning our isolation into illness. Is there a more accoplished adjective than perfect? Perfect is free from comparison, perfect rejects superlative. We can always be good, do better, try our best, but how perfect can we be before we can love ourselves and let others love us? And who, my dear child, has taken the word lovable out of your dictionary and mine, and replaced it with perfect? I wish you had made me an enemy, I said, rather than yourself. Mothers, I thought, would be perfect for that role. You can't be that for me, Mommy, Nikolai said. I've found a perfect enemy in myself. (查看原文)

  夏天珍珠梅 9赞 2019-02-23 08:50:34

• I don’t like making friends with older people. Besides, one can’t really be friends with one’s mother. Can one not? No. The essence of growing up is to play hide-and-seek with one’s mother successfully, Nikolai said. All children win, I said. Mothers are bad at seeking. You did find me. Not as your mother, I said. Don’t you notice the sign there (though I knew he couldn’t have—I had hung it up while talking with him): Do not let mother dear find us. (查看原文)

  热可可加盐 5赞 2021-04-16 23:53:54

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