2024-03-22
After reading The Glass Menagerie for the first time, I felt violated. A part of me even felt anger. I had to read the play for my English AP class and it almost felt like my English teacher somehow saw into the depths of my soul and picked it, just for me, and revealed myself to the rest of the class. Of course, I don't think she actually picked this with that intention. Or, I hope she didn't.
But the reason for this anger was that I saw myself in the character Laura and sympathized with her so intensely. She was terribly shy, to the point of only interacting with her family. It didn't help that she was extremely coddled by her mother. Her mother is the complete opposite of Laura. She is loud, boisterous, and with big plans for her daughter. Laura wants a simple life. Her mother wants her to get married, and quickly. But the relentless pushiness of her mother was too much to bear. It mirrored my own relationship with my mother and that was what struck a nerve in me.
The most tragic thing is that, I read this play again over 10 years later, and I still feel the same way.
I still see myself in Laura. Clumsy attempts at relationships that should have never been made. Intensely shy. Lacking backbone. Too dependent on family.
On my second read, I felt the mother-daughter dynamic more intensely. I'm 29 years old and my mother is desperate for me to get married. It is so painful to see Laura's mother harping on her to meet men and then, contrasting it with her own life, how she herself had many suitors at her age. It is the exact same thing that my mother does to me. Whenever she talks about her youth like this, I can't help but feel deficient. Why can't I attract men like my own mother did? Why do I care so much but at the same time, don't care if I get married at all? Especially to a man? Why am I so sad that my ideal life does not align with what my mother thinks is best for me? I read these scenes with tears in my eyes and I'm getting misty eyed just thinking about it now.
Interestingly though, on this second read, I also saw myself in Tom, Laura's brother. I didn't identify with Tom at all when I read it over 10 years ago. I thought him too rebellious, too unkind and impatient with his mother. I understand him more now.
At the end of the play, he leaves his home, forever. The tragedy in this lies in his eternal guilt for leaving his family behind. I wish I had his guts to do the same, now.
Well, I actually did. Three years ago. I moved out against my parents wishes. It was a turbulent time. I felt immense guilt for the first month or so but I eventually learned to relish my newfound freedom. I kept minimal contact with them but every time that I did contact them, I felt guilt over not missing them. But then my father became ill. He needed to get heart surgery. Suddenly, the threat of mortality dug up the old feelings of guilt. I moved back in with my parents.
Our relationship is a little bit better now. But some patterns still repeat. It's the patterns that repeat and that are present in The Glass Menagerie that digs at my core. Most of all, it's the co-dependence that I feel with my parents whenever I am living with them.
I wish I didn't feel so tethered to my family. I wish I could do my own thing, away from them, without feeling guilt. In a lot of ways, I feel like a bird who failed to leave the nest.
It's a morbid thing to say, but a part of me feels like I will not be able to truly live the life I want until my parents die. Of course, I still love them too much that I don't want them to die. It's such a complicated relationship. It's like a ball and chain that keeps me rooted to the same spot. But I love my ball and chain and I don't want to part with it. The key is in my hand but I'm afraid to use it.