She wants to be an Eagle, that soars high above the clouds. Riding the breeze. She is strong minded and independent.

She is like the juvenile lioness of the Savanna. Wild and untamed. She’s curious, with an unbounded energy.

Meanwhile, she’s also as gentle as a Doe.

Vulnerable and lively all at once. Docile and gentle in a heartbeat.

She is precious. She is my sunshine and also my sun. An extension of my own being. My twin soul as I call her.

She’s my world! And I can’t imagine a world without her.

She tells me that she’s my replica.

My partner in joy, sorrow, game and crime.

That’s my one lovely season of spring showers and rainbows. But every light spring showers and every rainbow splattered sky usually follows with dark cloudy days. Same is true in the seasons of human emotions. They are unpredictable.

Raging storms cause a whirlwind that I get consumed in. Flash floods keep rising higher and higher. While I try to keep my head above the water…and just breathe.

At seventeen, she’s taller than me.

She thinks she is wiser than me, suddenly more adult. She has found her tribe. Where I see uncertainty and dangers lurking in every corner and in every street, she sees the thrill and excitement with her new-found wings. Wings, that are only as wispy and fragile as a Dragonfly’s.

She thinks they are strong enough to span the vast expanse of the skies.

Your time was different, she says.

Was it really?, I think back.

I was a gawky seventeen-year old once upon a time. A very long time ago. Every generation, every era has its own challenges and choices. Its own freedom and its own restrictions.

After sundown, we were house-bound. Shadows loomed large in dimly-lit alleys and lanes. People didn’t venture out. Not even the grown-ups. In a quiet hometown, we made dinner and had it at home. Home! It was a protected sanctuary to return to.

But with technology today, the dark alleys, the looming shadows, the lurking dangers and worse have found its way into the safe havens. Social media they call it. Strangers have found a virtual entry into homes.

It’s impossible to keep everything at bay. I’m no supermom..much less a superhuman.

Could I possibly defend my fortress unarmed? I’m defenceless against the invisible and the unknown.

I have restless days and sleepless nights, keeping a watch on the clock, on her screen time and there goes my heart pounding like a million hammers when I catch her looking at her phone, sneaking in a hint of a smile. What makes her smirk so slyly…who could she be talking to, I wonder to death.

My blood already runs cold at the memory of the horrors doing the rounds on cybercrime news.

House rules are meant to protect one’s own, not to bind you, I cajole her.

But my advice falls on deaf ears. She calls me paranoid and phobic.

Facing her, I speechlessly look out of the window behind her and see dark clouds gathering outside, hanging low. It might break tremendously any moment with curtains of downpour.

In my living room I see dark clouds gathering on her sunny face. My sunshine has been briefly watered down, greyed and almost colorless

I hear the tea kettle whistling in my kitchen. I can imagine a similar steam rising up inside her, ready to erupt with a great force of unending words any minute. And it does. An outburst. A sea of emotions! A slam of the door makes my heart jump. But mercifully, she has only stomped out of the room, not the house. Phew!

Seventeen, I was told, is the age where they are half-baked and half-cooked. They don’t like to talk, they don’t like to listen. They have no attention span and are zoning out all the time. They don’t like to be told, they don’t like to obey.

There is simply no way to get through to them.

I stand there in the middle of the room, with the storm raging outside, inside my teen, inside me…

It takes sheer mental strength amid mental exhaustion.

I’m sick with worry. I’m numb with powerlessness. I’m…simply bone-weary!

A mother is portrayed as one who switches her roles in a split second to suit every need of her child. Is it realistic? Is it practical? I don’t take pride in stretching myself thin.

I’m a limited human being.

So I just let things sort out on their own.

She will come around when she cools down, I comfort myself. Till then I let her huff and puff, all the while maintaining my stability and taking deep calming breaths. I don’t need an endless war of words at home.

I haven’t taught her how to respect me, I’m told. Respect? It’s overrated. That’s not on my list at all. When I have ample self-respect, I don’t need it from external sources. I stand in my own light and shine it outward. I’m a nurturer. My duty is to protect and safeguard. Maintaining the peace is my priority.

My goal is to earn her trust. And I try to make that effort by being a good listener without any judgement. That’s precisely what had made her come to me with her innermost fears, ordeals and worries. Her angst is justified. Right now, she hates to admit that she’s wrong. She is coming from a place of conflict in her mind. I do understand that trying to find her own identity, her own niche at a phase like this is a colossal task.

But she will… when the time is right.

Meanwhile, during moments like these, I think of myself as a Lighthouse.

I’m a Lighthouse!

To warn my unsuspecting sailing ship of the craggy rocks nearby.

To guide my lost ship to safe harbor with my beacon of light.

I’m a Lighthouse for my child to seek refuge in. Right now, she’s like a small boat which is thrashed about mercilessly by the tempestuous seas. A sea of emotions that are volatile, which needs an anchor.

I wait patiently…

The door to her room opens after a while. I’m embraced in a bear-hug for what seems like a lifetime.

And a doe-eyed child is remorseful.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it…I know you mean well. I thought over it and now it all makes sense to me. Do you still love me?

And undoubtedly, I do. I do love her. I do fiercely love her. I tell her so.

That i’m the Lighthouse who cautions her from crashing onto the rocks.

The turbulent high tides have calmed down into feathery frothy waves like before.

The rift gradually heals. It always does.

Until then, I let her walk her path, fuelled by her own zest for life. Never holding her back, but always walking two steps behind her. My hawk eyes are always doing double time. Watchful. To protect her…or to pounce on her predators.

When she wants to cross that bridge to come to me, I’ll always be there—As solid as a rock, as strong as a pillar and as resolute as a towering Lighthouse. Shining and radiating my maternal love a full circle. I have earned her trust over the years and it’s for keeps.

I’ll be there when she falls, I’ll be there when she rises

I will let her see her follies and let her get her wisdom her own way. That way, she will pave new roads for herself, I tell myself.

I’ll let her draw her own maps and explore uncharted territory.

But I will always be her compass. I will be her constellations to help her navigate through the oceans and rough seas.

When she achieves her dreams and reaches for the stars, I pray that one day she will be the wise adult in my life who will hold my hand in my mellow years and show me the way… like a true North Star!