The pangs hit the hardest at night, when nobody I know is awake to read my depressing tweets. Sure, they'll see them in the morning or afternoon, and perhaps I'll get a few kind words and some virtual hugs, but right now, I have nothing.

I'm not blaming anyone for the lack of response, that's for certain. I mean, there's a reason I do this at night. It means I don't want to feel better. I want to sink down this spiraling pool of water until I gasp for air and learn to appreciate life as it is again.

***
As of today, it's been five weeks since her being gone. 35 days. More than a month. It feels like it was yesterday. It feels like it was five years ago. Sometimes it feels like it didn't happen. And that hurts, because I know it did. Her amount of clothes is endless; every other week I have to pick some out to burn with the paper money and paper ingots and paper whatever and it kills me a little inside each time. To touch the clothes that she used to wear. The ones that she hated, the ones that she loved, the ones she felt neutral towards. And the ones she never got to wear. Oh man, that pile is substantial. It's like she bought clothes for every day of Chinese New Year. Her favorite time of year. And she didn't even get to enjoy the entire period because she had to die.

I am getting myself mad right now. I see what I'm typing, I know what I'm feeling: I'm feeling angry at my mother for deserting me to fend for myself against my dad when he borrows money again, for leaving me no choice but to step up and do housework like I should have started years ago, for having no one to come home and babble about my day to, for making me miss her yammering about her daily gossip with the aunties downstairs, for just being gone.

She's in a better place now, I know. I hope she's happy. But part of me finds that impossible, because I made her happy. That sounds narcissistic, I am well aware, but I know she lived for me. She was a noble, foolish woman who made her life around her daughter and took her advice sometimes, rejected it other times, and stood by her husband even while tearing him apart verbally for the things he did. I miss her so damned much. What I would give to hear her voice again and feel her touch.

Ma, don't come back. Go to wherever you are supposed to be, and be at peace. You're free now. If you hear me cry out for you, don't look back. I love you.