Have you ever heard of my mom?
No, the answer is obvious. I am not the kind of melancholy
girl that would put up too much slices of my life exposed here. This is a
beauty blog, anyway. But today, I would like to tell all of you about this one
person, who may be just nobody so important for you people but she gets my most
respect out of the other 7 billion people out there.
Have you ever heard of a mom’s
sacrifices?
There are so many real heroic stories out there which always
succeed to bring tears to us, but my mom doesn’t have any to be told, nothing
close to the dramatic heroic stories, but I do know my mom is more than just
hero to her children.
She struggled to bring me into this world, carrying the
chubby me inside her uterus for more than 9 months while still taking cheap public
transport to work every day until the day of my birth. Nothing was easy with
that. I, the baby, kept sucking the nutrition out of what she just ate. Am I
not more than just parasite back there, even when I still couldn’t scream those
rude words to her.
But she caressed her tummy instead, trying to convince me
that I was indeed more than parasite, though later I really did speak up the
junks in my head to her harshly.
And I still do now, sometimes.
Have you ever heard of what I did
back there to my mom?
I was so rebellious since those younger ages. Something I was
so proud of, of which I now regret the most.
My mom is not the most perfect mother in this world. She took
me for a long walk in the hot and humid weather, stopping the cheapest public
transport (but ugly and dirty, of course), and went to a place I had never been
before but questioning her where the hell we were going to do there. Not
knowing the reasons of doing things above and forced to follow her was a hell,
but knowing them was more than just hell – I felt like I’d been thrown into avici, the lowest level of hell and
cried myself so loud for mumbling bad along the road later on when I knew the
truth.
She was not punishing me for screwing up my math test. She didn’t
want me to burn my skin to the crazy sun exposure and weather or bring me down
to road just to know “what life is actually when you have no car, dear”. She
had no companion back there and she could not reach ‘that place’ alone because
it was killing her inside. Taking my four years old brother was almost impossible
due to something related between his head and long sun exposure. So it was me
left for her to take along, to the place we call as “mommy will let go some of
this cool shiny stuffs, okay?” before she was handed money in exchange of the
jewelries.
Have you ever heard how distance can’t
put two hearts of people apart?
The sad story went on, as there are always dark days behind
my bright and her wrinkly smiles. Putting off all the fun and expensive things
behind, she worked day to night everyday and even until midnight at last days
of a year when it came for her to do something with company’s item stocks. I
complained to her of her absence during the family New Year eve’s dinner time
not knowing that she was making money for me and my brother’s living instead.
Her departure was inevitable, just like the war that’s going
on in my head and mind: I was in between of happiness for the freedom after she
went to another city – job matters – and emptiness of being left by my mother. Why
did universe do us apart? Either if it was a fate of decision of her, I could
do nothing but to appreciate everything she did. Not that the separation
brought me freedom instead of making me know more about her love and how deep
it was (and still is). Every time I was about to hang out crazily with my
friends, I had always had this picture of her face in my mind, and not so long
after that a call would ring my phone up: it was her, having this feeling of
the danger her daughter might go for.
That caused me to cancel my hang out plan.
Wait. Did she just read my mind? The mystic telepathy things,
or a fate,
Or was it something the universe set us in its epic play?
Was it something godly?
Have you ever heard the sound of a
breaking heart?
I cannot be delighted and grateful more than I am now. I
thank God every now and then for the mother I have, even though we were not
allowed to be together more than 9 years in my life. She’s now struggling very
hard to keep raising and funding me and my brother from hundred miles away
while I am also doing the same thing for her here. Can my sacrifices and acts
be enough to repay her, even she never asks for them.
Every time she goes home to meet us, it’s always just short;
not longer than two days in every chance we have. This condition breaks our
heart of course, even though we’re not broke financially anymore. We – I agree
that I may have wanted it more than she may – want to just quit this all, take
a break for seconds and really do quit the things we do just to be together
again. When it comes to her, it’s not that she won’t quit her job just to be
with me and my brother again. But when she really does, what we will eat
tomorrow? And a day after it? And two months later?
My time is running up. If God really makes my way to study
abroad, I will have no time left to spend with her. I will be attending college
and uni after it, before I get my first job and keep working until I meet this
unknown, God-sent guy of whom will marry me and get me move into the new house.
How can I spend more days with my mom, physically side by side?
And by every moment I think about that imminent life story of
which soon I will live on, I hear the sound of a breaking heart,
followed by tears streaming down my cheeks.
Have you ever heard of a mom’s cry
after reading this boring, long passage?
She has been aware of my departure to nowhere and the whole
marriage thing since long time ago. She’s not even sorry for that but feeling
guilty to get me not enough years to spend with her in those earlier days. She’s
very aware of a growing up kid who soon will leave the house and likely not to
return again if not something wrong has happened. Aware of how wealth can drive
someone away from those lacking of it. Aware that we both may not have enough
time to live in this cruel but otherwise real world.
I am aware, too.
I am aware of everything that will approach us in future. I
am aware of my leaving, I am aware of this decision of mine to set us apart
even for the additional thousand miles away. If I don’t do that for my mom, how
can I ever repay her back? It’s not something measured by any currency or
belief or any scale in this world but,
she knows how I cannot stand to be like her if I am put in
such a condition while being a mother. She’s very aware of me and my
characteristic: I am young, independent but totally rebellious. She only hopes
that I can do better than her for indeed a better living for my future family
so that my kids don’t have to feel the way that I do now, and I don’t have to
feel the way she feels all this years. I’ve grown strong and quite mature for
someone at my age, thanks to her and all this experience, but nobody even close
to her.
She is totally aware of whom I will become in the future,
maybe a good mom, but nothing like her,
of which I am aware too.
That’s why I want her to be happy. To concern more on her
health and happiness, and less caring about her crazy kids. Go live a life,
enjoy it the way people calls happiness to be like. Buy things she likes, have
a sip on coffee while enjoy reading the inspirational biography novels which
are always the source of her power and spirit.
Have you ever heard of my mom?
I have this imperfect mom out of the thousands mother in this
world, her sacrifices are awesome and always more than perfect for me. She’s
not flawless, she may not the prettiest and the fairest out of them all, she
struggles very hard getting rid of the sagging eyebags and skin from working
too much hours and staying up late, plus all the stresses we caused her.
I love her – I know she does too – and I want her to know,
I also want all of you to know her as well for loving and
raising this irreplaceable daughter of her no matter of what she has to go
through.
***
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| my pretty mom! |
This entry is a tribute to my mother, Melda H.S, and an entry to a blog writing competition held by B Blog. I think this competition is the
right moment to share a little about my life to my readers. Hope you would get
something good derived from this real story of our life, and be inspired as you
now have heard of my mom!
