Sup3rnality

Today's the 11th of May, 2008. Mother's Day. And I'm determined to put into words everything that I feel when it comes to my mother. But the words get lost in the din. There are too many things to say and too little words to describe her with. And I doubt that ever, even if again and again I read through the dictionary, would I ever be able to do justice in explaining my mother. So here's (again) I'm posting up an entry I wrote some years ago on Mother's Day that encompasses what I feel for her. It was relevant then, and is still relevant now as it will always be.
So here it is, Happy Mother's Day, Ibu.

I love you more than words would ever be able to express.

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“I don’t think I’ll ever be…”

This, I quietly I whispered hoarsely to myself. My voice breaking, struggling to reign in the raging emotions in me; I steadied myself, gathering up all my courage to turn to the owner of the voice who just asked me:

“Ready?”

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It was the 25th May 2003; my suitcases were packed and ready to be loaded up into the car, my clothes were laid out, ready to be donned, and myself? I wasn’t ready; I don’t think I ever will be.

My clothes were in a suitcase, another bag was stuffed with pillows and a blanket, and in another bag I had some miscellaneous knick-knacks. On my bed I had a white baju kurung and a white tudung, ironed nicely and laid out. But they sat there forlorn at one corner of my room, while I at the other, stared into space, a kaleidoscope of emotions fogging my vision.

I was finally there. I have been waiting for that moment; the moment when I no longer had to be dictated into pouring my time and energy into learning things I hadn’t half the mind for. I’ve had it with centralized exams, that judges your achievement based on what you memorized rather than understood. I was finally leaving all that.

I got accepted, of course. Just like I knew I would, into the University of my choice to take the subject I have long yearned for. I could not contain my excitement.

And yet, there were things that caused such a stir in my mind that it hurt to think of it. But still, I knew there was no running from it, and sooner or later, I’d have go through it—

I had to leave my mother.

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My mother had always been the voice of my sanity, my rock that held me down. She understood me even when I didn’t want to be. She forgave me even when I didn’t earn it.

My mother is my life, and for 18 years, I’ve never left her side.

Home is where the heart is, and my heart had always been with my mother. When I see her, it’s like being at home. All my troubles flee, and I can be myself, without having to fear the world.

She wipes my tears when I cry, she listens when I have to let it out, she holds me when I feel insecure, she remains my friend when others leave my side.

My life is filled with her. I was the only child for 10 years and was lonely most of the time. I did not like going out; so my mother and I entertained each other.

As I grew older, she became more than just my mother. She was the friend that never judged, the older sister I didn’t have, the girlfriend I gossiped with, and the mother that embodied all that I need.

Most days were spent with her and me going out, just to have a drink, to shop, just to drive around; just for the sake of enjoying each other’s company.

She’s just as she is, perfect; she’s my mother, and I love her to the very core of my soul.

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Years have past since that day, when I had I knew it was time to step out from under her wing to learn how to make my own shelter. Remembering the feeling, the knowledge that I had to leave her I can still remember until today.

I knew I wasn’t going to leave her permanently. It wasn’t like I was moving away and that I wouldn’t see her in years or perhaps never again. But what I knew was that, I was another step closer to when I’d actually have to leave her. I was another step closer to the life that I had to build on my own.

I saw it in her eyes when I held her before I had to leave, I saw how much she wanted me to be that young girl again whom she could pick up in her arms and protect. But I was no longer that little girl. Maybe I still am, but that little girl had to find herself, explore the world outside of the safety of her mother’s arms.

But I couldn’t cry. Not with her looking on, hoping to see me brave my way to a new future. No, I had to be strong. I could not cry. I would not cry.

But—

I remember crying that night; I remembered how she sent me message after message telling me she loved me and how much she missed me. I remember wanting to be there with her to tell her it’s alright and that I’ll be alright. I remember how hollow I felt, how I felt so lonely.

I could still feel her arms around me, hugging me tight. Her voice wavering, trying to keep it together even when I knew she was about to break. Her eyes betrayed the brave front she put on, her eyes looking straight into me, conveying to me just how she wished we had more time to have fun, without the inevitable future looming in on us.

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I remember that day as if it were yesterday. On this day, Mother’s Day, I feel it the most. Especially with her not by my side, but on the other end of the country.

These days I wish I cherished those days gone by more. I tell her that I love her more. I wish I was young again more. I wish I could be next to her and take care of her more.

These days, when she’s not close to my side, I wish I was a little girl again.

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“Ready?”

My mother asked me on the 25th of May 2003, taking one of my bags to help me bring them down to the car.

My emotions dangerously bubbled at the surface, I muttered to myself the answer I felt in my soul. Oh God, I never will be ready. You can ask me a million times over at any point in my life, I’d never be ready to leave my mother.

But turning slowly to face her, I put on a brave face­—for her. Steeling myself, I turned to her with a smile that belied everything that I felt. I said:

“I’m ready.”

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Also, Happy Mother's Day to Mom. My other mother. Who was there when I grew up just as much as my own mother. We might not share the same bond, but you're my mother nonetheless. Love you, Mom.


Love, Lin/Ayin~