It has been 10 years since I moved out of my parents' home.
In all those years, I have never felt, until recently, the desire and tremendous guilt to be near them, so I can help them prepare for their move. Unfavorable circumstances have it that they must now leave.
There are two things my mom has religiously told me I should never refrain spending my money on: food and books.
While I don't comfortably eat whatever I want to eat-- due to my concerns about weight and even more so because I can't help but want to choose the cheapest thing on the menu, as food is such fleeting and momentary pleasure-- I don't feel terribly guilty if I buy myself some books, perhaps because of my mom's insistence when I was a child.
As my parents are packing up their home, I thought about my mom's willingness to buy me books. As a child, I took advantage of her rare disposition to spend money on something I wanted, and so I asked for many books, because the euphoria of getting what I asked for was actually what I wanted. I now regretfully admit that I rarely ended up reading most of them. So there they are, sitting on shelves collecting dust in her home, which she now has to pack up for me. It feels like my responsibility.
