When I think of my relationship with my mother, the first thing that comes to mind is a wall. I always feel like there's one between us. Anything I say, she replies to with minimal response. Rarely can I engage her in a heart bonding conversation. When she gives me a suggestion, I tend to shoot it down and argue with her over the littlest details. And so over time we have built up this invisible wall between us.

I've tried to break down the wall, but I'm not strong enough. One side may push as hard as it can, but if the other side keeps piling up bricks just as fast, the effort is pointless. The wall remains standing.

It's useless to climb over the wall. It's too high for one thing. And just when it appears I've made progress, I hit barbed wire and return to my starting place. Crawling under the wall is a no-go. The wall is too deeply rooted.

Sometimes, I talk to my mother through holes in the wall. However, those holes are few and far between. The holes aren't big enough for either of us to crawl through. I can only stretch my hands out in desperation as we briefly connect.

Maybe overtime the wall will crumble. Maybe someday we'll both push and our combined effort will make the wall come tumbling down. For now, I live for those holes in the wall.