;♠ we will find each other there
Dear Mother,
I can understand declining birth rates, right now. And if I were part of the government intellegentsia I would have realised a few extra bucks and the household moniker of Baby Bonus isn‘t going to do much to acclerate a few thousand births. Being a mother isn‘t the nine months of labour (in which the stereotype of weak women becomes subject to debate), or even the high maintenance of a child. It’s a mental predicament, a life time entity which sometimes tests a woman’s patience, tries her tears, unleashes her anger, and very occasionally fetches a smile. I can sympathise with all those women, really. All whom would rather be living high profile lives in the crème of all careers to working out a migraine over her daughter’s PSLE score. The turmoil of motherhood worth tens of years isn’t half worth the sparse minutes of pride the mother has been yearning for each while.
I have never truly appreciated how you have always been there. The times you clear my table for me before it succumbs to look like it has been
raped by a few dozen harrumphing godzillas or to an inorganic cesspit. The times I have done the most appall able things and all you wanted to know was my state of mind. The times you stood up for me, and I never did for you. I never did thank you, and neither did you ask.
You should have abandoned me mother. Really. Severed all ties with this species you call a daughter. (I am being self degrading to myself in this statement, but it is mother’s day, it is your day, and I suppose the temporary sacrifice of my ego is the least I could do) I don’t know why you stay. I don’t know why all those mothers who are shut out brutally stay. Is it a patience cultivated by motherhood?
So what is it about motherhood? What is it about the sharing of a few molecular similarities which creates a bond of such permanency which no words, actions or events can weather? I don’t know all that, but all I know is that you care. It has taken me a helluva long time to realise that. Even then, such a realisation becomes veiled by anger at times.
Thank you for tolerating me all these years. I might never have made you felt wanted or even loved, but without you, you should know I wouldn’t be half the person I am today. I did spend time thinking about what I should give you for a mother’s day present. Firstly, I was financially incapable of even buying you a hairpin. Even so I would have either gotten you a penmanship book (hopefully it would create as much change in your handwriting as you have in my life) or a cook book, so the next time the last viable option before starvation requires your cooking skills we all don’t have to leave the ambulance and fire brigade on speed dial. The last option was a sappy letter of course - not only would it speak a thousand words (literally) but it also sympathises with the dire financial state I am in.
(This is a hint to please increase my pocket money?)So, mother, you might never read this. But if you do, this is all I can attribute to you for Mother‘s Day (other than the flowers I plucked off the street for you for which you have to remember I risked being potentially mauled by all those condominum security guards).
You are one of a kind mother. And even if sometimes I suspect you love your garden more than you love us, I still love you.
From,
K.
8:06 AM
