Salt

And The Weight It Carries

Photo by Tra Nguyen on Unsplash

You had your first job at fifteen. Not because you wanted to have one but because you had to get one. Your mother gave up her career and professional dream to take care of her three wonderful kids. And for fifteen years of your life, it worked. Your dad’s role was that of a breadwinner and your mom was a wonderful homemaker. You were loved and taken care of and never wanted for anything.

Then came that dreadful day. It was definitely above twenty-seven degrees Celsius but you were frozen to your bones. Your dad had died the day before and your grief-filled mother was now also your father. In the midst of all that grief, she had to figure out how to take care of her three kids.

The shimmering light that had constantly filled your home became duller. The fridges became emptier and for the first time ever, you were rationing salt. Yes, salt! There was a small pack of salt that was supposed to last a few more weeks because the budget was tight. “Where the hell does salt come from anyway?” you wondered.

A friend and former colleague of your dad gave you a job as a librarian. Not because you were qualified but because you were desperate. How exactly you convinced her to hire you is a story for another day, but you were determined to buy some salt so your mom didn’t have to worry about it. And that’s what you did with your first salary. You gave most of it to your mom as a contribution to the growing pile of household expenses.

Everything else in your life after that was a battle between doing what you wanted and doing what was needed. Scratch that, the choice was made for you. You paused your grief and marched on towards financial stability. You never wanted your mother to worry and for twelve years until her own death, you contributed the best you could to make sure she didn’t.

Somewhere along the way, it all started to feel too heavy. Like the responsibility you inherited was too much. Paying your own bills and contributing to your family’s. It all left you with no room to be fifteen or twenty or twenty-six. And the worst part is that you were surrounded by people who were allowed to have a childhood. They didn’t need a day job to pay for their experiences, at least not at fifteen. For them, making their own money was not a task they needed to learn yet. For the time being, they had the privilege of being teenagers.

And while you loved being depended on, so much that you built your whole identity around it, sometimes you wished for a different life, different circumstances, and different settings. Settings where your dad had not died too early. Settings where your mom had fought for her job and not given it up to raise you. Settings where the abundance you once knew was still a reality. Instead, you felt responsible for choices that were never yours. And now you were left behind paying the price for crimes you never committed.

The weight was so tiring that it left you no energy to be expressively angry. But you were angry.

Angry at the loss, angry at the grief that came with it, angry at the carefree life you once had but could no longer afford.

Angry that your dad left you behind. Angry at the guilt of missing him not only because of who he was, but also because of what he provided for your family: stability. Angry that that had to be one of the reasons you missed him.

And you were angry at your mom. Angry that she stopped working many years ago. Angry that she let being a mother be her whole identity. Angry that she swapped choosing herself for choosing you. Angry that now, by watching her try so hard to make ends meet, you were confronted with a reality you never wanted to face, not at fifteen.

As a woman, as a person who wants children, you didn’t want to see that having kids meant grave sacrifices, more for the woman than the man. You were angry at a system that punished women for having a family and not making it easy for them to get back into the workforce when the kids they’d wanted to see grow up no longer needed around-the-clock care.

You were suffocating under the weight most adults need time to learn to carry, and no child needed to learn about in the first place. But it was your weight and so you carried it. So much that when you didn’t have to carry it anymore, you were confused whether you should feel relieved or sad. Free or lost. At an age when most people are only beginning to carry that kind of responsibility, you were already drowning in too much experience.

The truth is where you come from, carrying that weight is seen as a badge of honor. The unicorn children who become the financial backbone of their families. But where you are now, you don’t know anyone who had to do that growing up. Hell, you don’t know anyone who had to do that as an adult. Most people, adults included, depend on their parents and not the other way around. And that fact alone means you’ll always be behind.

Even if you earned the same amount as a peer from a higher socio-economic background, you would never be able to catch up to level the playing field. You had dependents where they had none. You couldn’t afford to think of a system that would bail you out and they could. And most importantly, they could explore who they were as they were growing up with roles fitting their stages in life.

Now, you’re older, and fantasize about the possibility of exploration while wondering if it’s too late. Still recovering from the weight you carried as a child while trying to build a future where your kids wouldn’t need to relive your experiences. Where they wouldn’t be stuck between loving you deeply while being angry at you simultaneously. A future where they’d want to be more and not less like you. Where they wouldn’t dream of breaking free. And your efforts are still split in half. Like trying to swim against the current. Exhausting.

Who are you really without all that? Who are you when you’re not worried about buying salt? I hope you’ll have the tools to find that out.

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