Image by S. Hermann & F. Richter from Pixabay
Image by S. Hermann & F. Richter from Pixabay
My mother fell asleep in the living room tonight.
Usually I would just let her sleep until it's time to wake her up so that she could go to bed. She always has so much to do during the day, so I don't have the heart to disturb her peaceful sleep so soon. But tonight, I felt a bit selfish. I felt like I needed more time with her. I silently and quite foolishly cursed time for passing by so quickly that it was already 10 p.m, which means my mother would no doubt lose to drowsiness - no matter how tough of a fight she tries to put up. And so I went to her. My mother's not a heavy sleeper; the slightest movement and noise could easily wake her up. As expected, she immediately woke up when she felt me near. Instinctively - as if knowing exactly what I wanted - she made way for me and I lied down next to her.
I hugged her as she slowly fell into a slumber again. I closed my eyes and listened to her steady breathing. In that moment, I wasn't a 21-year-old student trying to get a degree in TESL, who's feeling anxious about entering third year and trying to be distracted by listening to music and watching Netflix. I wasn't a girl who's currently battling her inner demons who are ever so adamant in trying to convince her that she's not as strong, positive and happy as she claims to be. In that moment, I was just a daughter hugging her mother - hoping that to her mother, the embrace was as gentle and as loving as those countless hugs she always generously gives to her daughter.
I don't really remember anything that happened before I was six years old. But that's okay. At least, this limited storage still allows me to recall that one important moment when I was six and God showed me a proof that my mum was indeed a hero. I was waiting for my parents to come pick me up from pre-school. Every one of my friends had gone home and I was the only one left. Then, a couple of older boys came and picked on me because I was much smaller and defenseless. I mean, I only had a yellow belt in Taekwondo at that time, so what could I possibly do? Before it could get any worse, my mum came and saved the day.
When I was 14, I had to make visits to the hospital to see the orthopedic specialist because my knees were in pain. I had to make appointments for rehabilitation. In the process, I got made fun of because I was too young to experience that kind of pain. But my mother knew my struggles and how painful it was for me. She loyally accompanied me to every hospital visit and every rehab session. She never felt like her time and energy were wasted even though the blood test result came in and no one knew what was wrong with my knees.
When I was 17, I went to a public restroom alone. I'm the kind of person who would check whether there's water or not before proceeding with whatever business I have. Apparently, there was no water that day. So I went out of the cubicle. And I saw my mother outside, with a concerned look on her face. I asked her why she was there, and she said she saw a man coming into the restroom. If she wasn't quick enough, only God knows what could have happened.
I can list down endless examples of how my mum not only saved me from harm that other people could inflict on me, but also harm that I could inflict on myself.
When I was in my final year of high school and preparing for the big examination, she was there for me to make sure that I didn't feel alone. At 8 p.m every single evening like clockwork before I began my revision session, she would make me a glass of iced Nescafe. I would study in the living room and she would accompany me until I was done at 11 p.m. When I came home crying after I sat for that devilishly difficult Additional Mathematics papers and thought I wouldn't be able to get a good grade, she comforted me. She even got me some chicken rice. Honestly, how much better could it get from there?
While I was stressing out over one of the assignments I had to do during my third semester, she stayed up until 1 a.m (which is a rare occurrence) and stayed online on Whatsapp to check up on me. She must have been sleepy and tired and her day would start in five hours; but she was risking it all just to show that she believed in me - even when I didn't believe in myself.
No matter how much I have grown, my mother would always have my back. She still makes iced Nescafe for me as if my life depended on it. Every single time I worry about not doing well in a certain semester, she would comfort me and lift my worries off my shoulders. She's brilliant at being the best of my support system. But then again, she's good at a lot of things. Perhaps the only thing she's not good at is telling me exactly how much salt I should add to my cooking.
I hope to be as good, loving, kind and gentle as she has always been to me.
My mother fell asleep in the living room tonight. I lied down next to her, listened to her steady breathing and prayed to God that I would never run out of chances to listen to it.
