Dear Mom,
The letter I’m about to write will weigh heavy. I’m not going to share it on Facebook, and you’ll probably never read it, because it’s not my intention to crap on you and therefore change you. This is not a form of revenge but rather a way to drain the poison that has nibbled at me, both inside and out, since birth. It’s a way to erase the shadow between me and you and the other women in my life. The intention is also to make peace, yet I cannot do any of these things, because I hate you, Mom…
Isn’t it shocking to hear your own son say, “I hate you.” Yet that’s the way it is. The hatred started the moment I attached to your womb, and I’ve hidden and suppressed it ever since, because I was afraid. God our Father would punish me either way, and I feared that all my endeavors would be in vain. Remember you would always say how God punishes us for not keeping our promises? Yes, you did it, Mom. You took a beautiful animal and put it in a prison built from your own fears. You turned me into such a caged animal, an animal that hates its master, in this, your greatest of manipulations.
I’ve just been meditating, and I was asked to imagine the first moment I entered the womb. How loving and well lit it was. Despite the light and love, however, there was a solid hatred. You should see the vile expression on my face while writing these lines. I have hid that ugly expression so far, suppressing it with all the masks. Yet I still fell into the same shit time after time. Even if you had put me in Heaven, I know I would always fall into the same traps. I was a cowardly, hesitant, and startled Hasan who should have never existed.
Do you agree? I should have never existed. You should not have had that fling with my father. You hated yourself that night, didn’t you? You surrendered to your desires and slept with him. You became pregnant to a man you had refused for three years. You then of course went and married him, even though a very handsome investigator also wanted to marry you. If I had not come along, you could have married him once he returned from his military service. You talked about it over and over. Well done on the mess you made for yourself. You then burdened me with your woes. What was the result of losing your own ambitions, your own desires, and your own passions? I was! You constantly sent the same message to my subconscious: “If you had never existed, I would be with him!”
You could not make it work with my father. It just wasn’t there. You needed a lover, so this time you turned to the boy you wished had never existed and made him your lover. I remember the attitudes you gave me when things did not work out for you. There were whims and attitudes that a woman would only inflict on her lover. If any woman would do the same to me now, I would instantly tell her to get out of my life. I even shut out those who even slightly show such behavior. And then there were your kisses. Why would a mother kiss her child like that? I have had many lovers, and none of them kissed me on the lips like that. I confess that I always felt uncomfortable. Why would a child want to be kissed that way?
I don’t care that my father couldn’t be your lover. Your relationship was about you two, not me. Yet my entire childhood was about your fights. I have always felt ashamed. I would bury myself in the pillows on the sofa, yet I could never hide from my shame. Let’s also not forget your accusations against my father. You called him the “devil himself,” because you feared I would choose him if you separated. Mom, I see now I have grown up: My father is so gullible.
They say that heaven is at the feet of the mother. Believe me when I say I have always suppressed this hell out of a fear of not going to heaven. I could never express that, but now I’m ready to enter hell. You will get whatever you deserve. I have chased love all my life and been unable to feel it. I have had numerous lovers, and yet I could never build a sound, complete relationship. I have travelled around the world to get in touch with my female side, yet it’s been like chasing my tail. Mom, I now see how the problems were there from the start, from the day I fell into your womb. I just hated you so much that no love could grow inside me. I grow fields of flowers for the sake of appearances, yet there is nothing but filth below it.
I always had sore throats during childhood because I could not express such things. I have always been as selfish as you, you know? I have shown that I have to always put my own interests first, because I would not have survived otherwise. You called me “my son” for ages, because I was not given the name you wanted. This is exactly when I started hating my name, yet I have grown to love it recently, thanks to you. I was not İlker, Mom. Your “İlk –Er” [meaning “first man”] was the child you miscarried. I am grateful for being named Hasan. At least I can say “Has-An” [meaning “pure moment”] and take some consolation in the soil of hatred…
I do not know how to feel love, Mom. Did you know that? I just do not, yet I know hatred, anger, and manipulation well. I know how to benefit from these, yet I am still like you. I am as good as long as it serves my interests, yet I appear to be sincere. You know how you always accuse people of being self-interested? Try looking at yourself, because you are the one who is self-interested. I am like that too, because I came from your ovum. I do not call anyone unless I have something that needs to be handled. I use everyone so I will not be alone, yet I do not really care about anyone, because I have no value myself. My only intention is to survive, for whatever reason…
I have always lived with this hatred, Mom. It has burned me like acid. I have always tried to heal these wounds, but for as well as I have done this, what comes next? I have turned in circles yet been a square. I neither love myself, my body, nor any other thing. Only my children represent pure love to me, and I treat them the opposite of how you treated me. I don’t restrain them with fear but rather let them grow up freely.
You wanted to raise me as a satellite of yourself. You wanted to benefit from my energy, so you tried to exert complete manipulation on me. You wanted to restrain me, and you managed it well. Well, enough is enough! I was not born to this earth for you, and you do not own me. Thank you for contributing your ovum and letting me use your womb, but I do not need your permission now. I do not need a god to approve my life based on the respect I show you. Will God really love and protect me if I act like you wish me to? Such a god is your servant anyway, so he has no connection to me. Wow, Mom! You’ve already ruined my relationship with him. Do you see it!
I’m getting bored of writing this, but I hope it will heal me and help me to feel the things I have been unable to feel throughout my life.
There’s a lot more to say, but I grow weary of it. I say this to you, God: “Come on!”