Soliloquy

Like mother, like daughter. It’s a tragicomedy of sorts. Since young, I’ve always been haunted by the curse of inevitably turning into the one person I swore I would never become. Constantly being told you are a carbon copy of your mother overly complicated the formation of my identity and my self-perception. Was I destined to become my mother? And is that necessarily a bad thing? In the end, all women become like their mothers, that is my tragedy.