Nilai kasih ibu...

“Grief does not change you. It reveals you...”- John Green

  

(Sara and I at Mt Kinabalu)

Kepada semua ibu-bapa dan bakal ibu-bapa,

Exactly a month before Mirza (Ja), my youngest son, passed away, I read a sad article dedicated to me by my eldest daughter, Sara. After reading the article I was heartbroken, as I have somehow offended her with my concerns or lack of them. As a typical mother, I’m overly worried for my children well being. And as always, I will want to provide the best for the three of them.

A few days after, I was hospitalized for my Angiogram. The three children came to visit. A really rare occasion to see Sara, Iwan and Ja together. Looking at their worried faces, I knew that they were concerned about my health. I felt so much loved. It was then, I told them how I feel. How much I love them and how much I care about them. I told the three of them that I love them the same - not more, not less. And I also told them that I never ask anything in return… just be anak-anak yang soleh dan solehah and sedekah al-fatihah for me when I’m no more around…

Then, I never thought that I would lose one of them...

To all parents. if you have the opportunity, hug your children and tell them that you love them so very much...

To All who came visiting, sms, e-mailed and called, thank you very much for the kind words and support. I am still in so much grieve. But like some of you said, I have to take comfort in the thought that Ja is in the loving arms of Allah. Amin...

Just to share with you, the article written by my Sara.


Sunday, February 19, 2006

My mother

I am here, alive, because of my mother.

Ever since I was small, I've always remembered people reveling about my mother - her petiteness, her fair skin, her smile. I remember her dressing me up in the prettiest of frocks she sewn herself, then combing and tying my hair up in ponytails with little ribbons. I remember her putting on just a little bit of lipstick on my pale lips ("Bagi nampak cantik sikit.") and making me wear skirts and pushing my legs together when I sit ("Duduk elok2 sikit. Awak kan perempuan."). I remember old, yellowing pictures, of just me and her, me on her lap, me standing by her side awkwardly in my denim miniskirt, me and her in matching baju kurung for hari raya, her always smiling and I with my brows furrowed (there were hardly any pictures of me smiling when I was younger). I didn't always smile, but I was often captured with her, photographs after photographs, just me and my mother.

When I was a child, I was an achiever. I would bring my report cards home, and my father would sign them, and my mother would read them aloud, all A's. I would be the best in everything - languages, mathematics, even arts. I would be the one going on stage during the award-giving ceremony to get my trophy, and then running around the back to give it to my mother, and then getting back into line, because soon it was my turn again. I would be the one on stage, dancing, or reciting a poem, or a speech, and I would see my parents in the audience, and I would be so proud.

Then, soon enough, things changed. I grew up, and got lost. From my mother, that is. All during my years in J.B., I would, once every fortnight or so, call home, and get my father on the line. Sometimes he would let me talk to my brothers, if they were around. But I could not recall, any one time, when I would speak with my mother on the phone. Sometimes she picked up, and said hello, and then she would hand the receiver over to my father. Sometimes I spent weeks, months, even, not speaking to her. That was when I was in school, and they were at home, and J.B. and K.L. had never seemed farther away.

When I came home, for the holidays, things were pretty much the same. My seat, in the car, is right behind the passenger's, where my mother sits, so I don't talk to her much in the car. There wasn't much to talk about anyway. My grades were really bad - I was flunking everything except English. I had my hair cut very short, and was determined to live in baggy jeans and t-shirts and baseball caps. I think my parents, in general, were disappointed with me, because of my studies, and also because the only daughter they had was turning into a dude. I don't really know, because I never did pay attention. The best years of my adolescent life was spent in a gated compound with friends who I felt were understanding enough to leave me the hell alone when they don't get me. I felt like I fit in, because no one really cares about what you did. No one gives a damn if you're fat, or lazy, or spend all day sleeping and all night eating. No one cares if you're weird, or strange, or smell - they just keep away. That was what I liked most about school. People left you alone.

And then there was university, where I stayed close to home and decided that I do want to make something out of my life. I started giving, and I started caring, about myself, about people around me. I guess that was when the trouble started. I started getting A's again - one or two of them, scattered here and there. Not immediately, though, but I picked myself up. I made new friends, went to the library once in a while, and studied at night. I lost my baby fat (some of it anyway), ditched my sport sandals and made sure that my thighs are together when I sit down. I allowed the hair on my head to grow (and removed others), stopped swearing (out loud anyway) and got myself a man. When I figured I was good enough, I presented myself to my mother.

The thing is, with my mother, there is no such thing as 'good enough'. It's either you're the best, or you're not. If you're not number one then you're not the winner, and can never be. I would present to her my results, my new hairstyle, my new firmer body, my handsome suitor, and from the look on her face, I can tell that it's not enough. Sometimes she would say something - "A minus je? Kenapa tak boleh dapat A?" or "Memang la tak muat. Awak tu gemuk." or "Kenapa dapat biomedical science je? Kenapa bukan medic?" or "Memang la takkan dapat, dah kerja awak duduk macam ni je." but other times, she doesn't. It's they way she looks at me. When I showed her my results slip, and there was my GPA - 3.5 - she looked at it, silently put in down on the table, and went away, and I know she was thinking that I should have done better, maybe get 4.0 - the subjects could not have been really that difficult, could they? Or when I told her that yet another relationship was over, she'd be quiet, and I know she was thinking that I had it coming all along, that she knew he was too good for me. Today, when I told her that some my friends had gotten interviews, that I didn't, because my application didn't go through and I had to apply a second time, she got verbal, and told me "Awak tu memang selalu lambat. Sampai bila2 la takkan dapat apa2.".

Being thought of as a failure by my mother - I think that is the worst thing in the world. When she had be, she probably imagined a pretty little girl, someone who is smart and thin and lovely and successful, someone high-ambitioned like her, who could keep a home and have a soaring career at the same time, someone who would charm all her friends, someone she could be proud of to be seen with, someone just like her. Well, I'm not. I'm not rich, or successful, or beautiful. I don't have a beau, and I sure am not going to get married before my brother does (if ever). I can't cook without burning myself, or sew to save my life, or crochet, or do all the tiny handicrafts she does. I'm not popular, or easy with words like she is, or even likeable. I'm not impeccably organized, or sparklingly clean, or chicly fashionable. I can't fit into her pants, and I can never fit into her shoes. I'm not perfect, I'm not her, and I will never be. I just wish she'd understand.

I am here, alive, because of my mother.
I am also here, broken, because of my mother.

Posted by sareque @ 16:26