My solution was to feast on sweet treats and I asked my mother to be my date for the day, quickly clarifying that I would be treating her and that all she had to do was tolerate my blogging antics -- which is synonymous to watching me prance about for a half hour taking photos of the food from various angles before finally devouring it -- and drive me out of the house that has my spine chained to the ground.
She agreed, and we were set for a cloudy ice-cream date.
After ordering our food, we seated ourselves by the glass window in a secluded corner of the cafe and she quickly demanded detailed accounts of my love life, my school life and my love life yet again. The start of university saw my dwindling effort to bond, going out early, coming home late, citing exhaustion as an excuse for her invitations to catch up when in reality, the fear of opening up to a human being whom I share blood and bones with is an oddity I was perplexed by.
And like all fears I cannot find sense in, I had turned my back and attempted to ignore it.
The clouds outside the glass window were gliding across the colourless sky and we spent hours chatting about love and life and the pains of taking good photos.