I went to spend the Easter holiday with my loved mother and father in the brown brick home that I grew up in back when life was much simpler.

Me, styled by my mother on Easter Day

On the morning of my flight before I headed to the airport, I did things that I do not normally do. I dressed up in a fitted dress that showed my woman curves, I wore gold jewellery; earrings and a necklace with a matching pendant set so shiny, it glittered in the sun and reinforced that I was a woman that snapped her fingers and got things done, I put on my make up, essentially I put on my mask and I ensured it fitted properly, checking and double checking before I went home; to be the loved daughter that is grown and takes care of herself so wonderfully, ‘oh look how beautiful you look my darling’ my Mother said to me. It’s all for you mama, I replied and I do not think she believed in the literal way, that it was all for her. It really was all for her

I love my mother, so I dress as flamboyantly as she does even though it is not in my nature to do so, simply because this makes her light up so happily you can see the happiness jump into her eyes and make it’s way down to her mouth, her throat and then claim her body.

When you love someone as much as I love my mother, you want to see them laugh, because their laughter unlocks your own laughter; you want their laughter to sail in the air and find their way to the pit of your own chest; so full, so full, it makes you breathe in and in and in and sigh out deeply releasing the love that’s seating on your chest so heavily that you flutter momentarily and then you laugh also because you are full, a laughter that settles with a smile at the curve of your mouth and warm love that makes you squint your eyes in the direction of the loved.

Me, photographed by the home caretaker on Easter Day

I am now back in my compulsory adult home where I am a millennial that wears mummy jeans, torn inscribed feminist t-shirts, constantly with chipped nails and thinks coco pops is an acceptable 3-course meal.

I am unmasked.

2 thoughts on “IN MY MOTHER’S SKIN”

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