And not just because my mother is in the middle of naked yoga in front of me. I did just drop in, so I’m the one interrupting her routine, and normally her ritualistic meditation practices don't faze me. I’m used to her. She's my mother, after all.
But it is rather hard to concentrate on the bill in my hands from the student loan department when my mother's hoo-ha is right at eye level while she's in downward dog. Especially with a bush as full as hers. I respect my mother’s hippie liberal ways and totally support the female form in its natural state, but I’m not convinced that Eve didn’t do a bit of pruning first thing after she threw that apple core to the ground.
It’s because I’m proud to be a woman that I spend so much time waxing and plucking. I know, I know, different strokes for different folks and all that jazz.
At the moment, it feels awfully apropos to be faced with her asshole when I’ve just discovered that life is dealing me a pile of shit. Goodbye new apartment in El Segundo. I can’t even. This is terrible.
I must have said that last part out loud, because a second later my mother interrupts her ohms to ask, “What’s terrible, Dev?”
“Everything,” I answer. “Everything is terrible.”
“‘Whatever words we utter should be chosen with care for people will hear them and be influenced by them for good or ill.’” She’s quoting Buddha. I swear that in a lifetime of being her daughter, less than fifty percent of everything she’s ever said to me has been original.
I wish my words would influence her to stop her routine and tell me how to get out of the financial mess I seem to be in. Why did I decide to stop by to pick up my mail today anyway? I could have continued through the rest of the week, blissfully unaware that my one semester at UCLA was coming back to haunt me.
I look up as my mother moves into half downward dog, and immediately regret it. Shielding my eyes, I groan, “Maman, do you mind?”
As she glides into her next pose, she glances back at me and whatever she sees causes her to shriek—ironic considering that I’m the one watching a fifty-year-old woman doing naked yoga.
“Devi!” she exclaims. “Your aura’s so murky it’s practically black! Sit down, sit down. I’ll get you some turmeric juice and then give you a Reiki treatment.”
“Thanks, but I think I just need to talk for a minute.” At least I’m now the focus of her attention. That’s the way with my mother—she’s either oblivious or doting. There’s nothing in between.
“Nonsense.” She’s already pouring me a glass of her favorite elixir. “If you could see what I’m seeing, you’d know how badly your life energy needs healing.”
“Actually, what needs healing is my bank account.”
“‘Contentment is the greatest wealth,’” my dad says, coming in from the kitchen, the bamboo beads in the doorway clacking together as they fall behind him.
I try not to roll my eyes. “I bet Buddha would have thought differently if he’d had student loans,” I mutter.
“Student loans?” my mother asks as she sets the turmeric juice in front of me, her voice rising with a hint of hopefulness.
“Are you enrolling in school again?” My father’s tone matches my mother’s.
I’m tempted to be annoyed—I know they only want what’s best for me.
But if I’m annoyed at anyone, it’s myself. It shouldn’t be so goddamned hard to decide on a major, but somehow it is. It’s not that I don’t have any scholarly interests—I’m actually intrigued by a great many things. Just, committing to one subject and choosing it as a career is, well, daunting.
“Not yet, Baba. Soon. But not yet.” Soon. I hope that’s not a lie.
“You’ll figure it out,” he says with a reassuring smile that almost makes me forget the terribleness of the paper in front of me. “You have your whole life to decide.”
One of the most unbelievably amazing things about my parents is how completely they support everything I do. Even when they disagree with my choices, they smile and cheer me on wholeheartedly. As long as I’m doing what makes me happy, they’re all for it.
My mother ushers me to sit down at the kitchen table, then moves behind me, and even though I can’t see her, I know she’s stroking the air above me, wiping the negative energy from my aura. Meanwhile, my father places a hand on my shoulder, channeling positive energy into my body.