Mała Ala

People always tell me I look just like my mum. They swoon over our similarities. They say, you could be sisters. My older family members often coo over me – mała Ala, they call me. Mała means little in Polish, and Ala is my mum’s nickname.

It was always very endearing, if not a touch overwhelming.

My mum was twenty-five when she had me. I am almost twenty-five today. I don’t often think about children at this time, but when I do it is only in fear. I couldn’t imagine having a child right now – the expenses, the commitment. I have no money, and tons of student debt. I’m finishing up a degree. I haven’t had any stability in years. I still don’t know what I want to do, where I want to go, where I want to end up. My head is still in the clouds – I can barely keep myself in check, although I’m getting better at it.

But my mum was only twenty-five too. She had just immigrated to a new country to give her children what she thought could be a better life. She hadn’t finished any specializations back in Poland so she came to Canada with a new slate, but not enough time to figure out what she wanted to do and to actually do it. She had to learn a brand new language. She had me to worry about, so she picked the quickest thing she could think of. She and my dad both worked tirelessly. I was raised by a slew of mother-figures: aunts, uncles, grandmas, grandpas.

My parents, they worked because they had to, and because they knew what growing up with little money looked like. My mum wanted opportunity for my sister and me. She wanted us to have everything.

I had a good relationship with my mum when I was young. We were raised into the church, and at a young age I had no complaints. I didn’t see anything wrong. I was always the good kid. I went to school, I did my work, I didn't ruffle feathers, I cleaned my room (sometimes). We squabbled, like any parents and children do.

My mum didn’t work on Fridays for as long as I could remember. She would always make us hot lunch, like macaroni and cheese, and either bring it to us at school or call us home for the hour. We did live right across the street from school so it was an easy commute.

She was always very cautious, especially when we were getting older and afraid of our parents embarrassing us. She would always check with us before she shared a story, or came to visit in class. I feel bad about some of those moments now – my mum shouldn’t have had to ask to be able to say I love you as she dropped us off for class. I’m sure she knew it for what it was – adolescent angst.

My mum tucked us into bed every night, and both my sister and I had trouble sleeping so she used to come and wait in bed with each of us until we fell asleep. She would start with my younger sister and then come to me, and rub our backs and tell us stories until we were snoring. Then she would spend a good chunk of the night cleaning and preparing and sometimes relaxing before falling asleep and doing it all over again.

She always made sure our birthdays were special, even if we weren't appreciative of her driving two hours to school with cake and presents just to be turned away at the door. She always made sure that we had at least one fun snack in the cupboard, even when we were all supposed to be eating organic boiled meatballs for every meal. She would drive us wherever we needed to go, even if it was a ridiculous request like being picked up from a Halloween party at 1:15AM on a Tuesday.

We were spoiled children, and I don’t think we always appreciated it.

As I got older, my views on what existence should be changed drastically. As I fled from the church, my relationship with my mother teetered. We were constantly bickering about who I was, who I wanted to be, what I stood for, what I believed. It felt like we could never agree.

Her views were old-school, based around what she knew. She wasn’t comfortable with the change that was happening in the world. She told me I had to go to school, and when I brought back everything I learned about the disaster that was this world, she shook her head and accused me of filling my head with spiteful garbage. The tattoos, the piercings, coloured hair, my choice of clothes, my philosophies on the world and humanity – she wasn’t about to stand down.

We fought a lot. We fought about everything. My mother and I – we are both criers. So we cried a lot. I escaped. I kept escaping. I moved out, went across the world, kept a distant connection. Looking back now, I know she deserves more.

My mum and I, I think we’re okay. I think as I’ve gotten older I’ve started to recognize all the sacrifices she had to make for me to be able to be where I am. I’ve recognized her capacity to learn, and grow, and understand. We are all human. We make mistakes. But if something is important we have to be open to teaching each other, and learning – I think this is something we both realized with time.

We don’t agree on everything. And there are many secrets I still keep. But she is my mum. She would be there for me no matter what. And I know she always means the best. We’ve gotten much better at communicating and setting up boundaries – healthy things for any relationship.

As I get older, I am also starting to see all the similarities between us, not just in the way we look but the way we are. She is strong-headed and stubborn, especially when she believes in something deeply. I am the same. She is a bit of a spontaneous shopper. I take after her there. She is passionate and determined, confident and outspoken, funny and untethered. She loves the romantic sides of life, eating croissants by big open windows, drinking a cup of cocoa by a blazing fire, watching a sky full of a billion stars and imagining what might be in the great beyond. I am definitely my mother’s daughter.

Now, when I visit home, my mum and sister and I get wine drunk by the half-finished kitchen that my dad is always trying to improve. We gossip and laugh and sometimes even have political, philosophical or religious debates. We don’t cry as much. We learn when we mess up. We grow. We are humans. And my mum – she is one of my favourite humans of all.