Dear Diary,
Zaid is having time adjusting in his new school. His best friend before Chinese New year is nw his mortal enemy. Yesterday, he texted me, upset, because the video game he lent the boy, came back spoilt. His former friend had scratched it.
I know a mother isn't suppose to interfere with happenings in high school but he's miserable and he wants to leave. And he's only 12 years.
I told him no. He needs to stick it out and figure out how to get along or make new friends.
He has such hard time in school. Grades, friends, school, getting along with teachers.
I feel for him but am exasperated.
He's growing up too fast. And I'm afraid for him but I need to let him sort it out.
I found an old poem I wrote, when he first when to primary school- I was so worried for him.
A mother sees her son so scared
The first day of school, he holds her hand
She hangs on tight and bends down low
She pulls him close and whispers so…
“I hold my breath when I’m afraid
I make a ball and swallow whole,
In my throat, it sticks and waits
For the scare to go away
I never know how long it stays
But I cannot speak cos I’m afraid
People think I’m weird and stuff
Cos I stop and stare and cannot say
The trick I learnt, was blink and turn
And imagine daddy, hand held firm
He reaches out and and hair he flicks
Tell that breath, begone, unstick?
She smiles, she nods, agree...
”I tell you this, because it works
Instead of daddy, me you’ll see
Now tell that fear, begone, unstick
My mummy is here, go quick, quick,quick
The son, he shakes and tears
And holds his mummy’s hand with fear
And pulls and peers
Then says, I’m out of here…
My breath got swallowed, good and hold
Not in my throat but in my tummy
The mummy smiles and nods her heard,
The same, be bold, Jump and turn instead
And say, Begone, unstick and go away
The boy, with disbelief, holds tight to mummy
And jumps 3 times, doesn’t turn around
He waits and waits and feels his tummy
And stamps his feet on to the ground
It’s gone, it’s gone, the ball is gone
I can run and play and be just me!
The mother smiles and winks and says-
I told you so, you’re just so braveT
he school bell rings, the mummy waves
Have fun, I’ll see you happy later today
But he’s not 6 or 7 anymore.
He’s 12. Preteen
Horror years, I am told.
Need to shake off this feeling of gloom. I hate being a mother sometimes. It's hard work and I think I'll fail as a mother.
Other days, I think I’m still the child. I need protection.
So how, dear diary?
We just plod along, I guess.
Very reluctantly, sometimes.
Signing off!
Love,
