mother

Her mother never liked her much, this she was certain. She didn’t talk much to her nor she listen to her. When she was younger and didn’t quite put the concept of motherhood, she just saw her mother as some figure, a shadow in her life. Her earliest memory about her mother's lack of affection was her grandma curt words when they were having a family gathering years ago.

She remembered how beautiful her mother was, her shiny curly black hair fell perfectly on her shoulders. She wore this sleeveless flowery dress and because they had tea at the patio, every time there was a breeze, she could smell her vanilla musk perfume. She was only four but she could tell that her mother wasn’t happy.

What’s wrong with you? Can you just pick a decent dress for her?

I was busy, Ma.

Doing what? You quit your job years ago, I just don’t see any reason my only granddaughter presented in this family reunion looking like she hasn’t had shower for days!

I told you, I was busy. My mother replied coldly while grandma tried her best to strain herself.

Don’t you love her? Care about her?

What kind of question is that, Ma?

Well, do you?

She was sitting and her eyes bounced back from her mother and her grandma. There was a long silence and it seemed the longest silence in the world. She didn’t remember her mother said anything.

After years, she got used to it. She learnt to avoid her mother’s gaze, didn’t talk back when she gave her sharp comments about her hair, her body, the way she dressed and how nobody wanted to be her friends. When she was in high school, her mother’s resentment toward her became more and more obvious to the point she stopped hoping.

When she just started primary, she cried a lot. She didn’t understand why her mother was different. Why she didn’t brush her hair, picked her up in school, kissed her cheek, and held her hand when they cross the street. Soon, she thought there must be something wrong with her, and it didn’t take a long time when her confidence fell apart.

During those times, her father flooded her with books as gifts. She loved him and she knew he loved her too, but he was never around. They talked through the phone when her mother let her. Most of the time she said to him that she’s already in bed while she was standing in front of her, hoping to hear her father’s voice.

So every time her father sent her books, she devoured it like pieces of him was there too; in every page and word. There was always a villain and a hero in every story she read, her imagination ran wild. Maybe her mother was under some cursed, maybe she wasn’t her real mother, switched by an evil man, maybe she wasn’t she at all, maybe she belonged to some secret society and someday when they needed her, they’re going to summon her –for an adventure far, far away from this world.

But none of these were true, she knew it. Her mother was her birth mother, even without looking at the certificate, she knew it. She had the same curly black hair, the same thick lashes and full lips, even their voices were similar. She looked at the mirror one day and was horrified how genetics betrayed her fantasy.

She was her mother daughter.

When it was time for her to leave the house for college, she couldn’t tell who was happier; her or her mother. She chose a university as far as she could from her home, five hours by train. But she knew even if it was only one or fewer hours away, her mother wouldn’t come and visit. So, it didn’t really matter.

She packed all of her stuff; she brought some of her favourite books and realised, aside from the books, she didn’t have much. She was so relieved that the day finally came. She was stuffing her last book in her suitcase when her mother’s shadow fell on her.

She was leaning on the door frame with a cup of coffee in her hand. Said nothing just observing her as if that was the first time she saw her own daughter. She didn’t say anything back, startled at her mother’s appearance.

You are going to crack your back, carrying all that stuff.

And shortly after she said that, her mother was gone.

She looked at her bag and her close-to-empty shelves, she knew she wouldn’t crack any bones with her ridiculously small suitcase, but strangely she knew her mother was right, she was carrying all of her life in this little duffel bag.

She didn’t have any plan to return and she was ready to fly away, leaving her miserable cursed life. Leaving the cursed woman who lost the ability to be a mother, she was packing her life.

She stood up and left the room, she was looking for her mother, wanted to say something she didn’t know what. Her mother was in the kitchen, pouring herself another cup of coffee. Since her father passed away, her mother had been drinking coffee a lot, as if she was afraid of sleep.

Her mom black hair knotted into a messy bun and she could see her mother was fighting her sleepiness in a tiring battle. She looked so .. unfamiliar to her, she no longer held any resentment and disappointment toward this strange woman. She was lost all of this time, but this woman had never found her home since the beginning.

She decided that today, she would stop for wanting this woman to be her mother.

This small, sad and tired woman was a stranger to her.

 I’ll be coming home on Christmas.

The strange woman was taken aback, turned to her and frowned. She opened her to mouth to say something but stopped in mid-air. “Whatever,” she mumbled then turned her back again on her.

She left the house the next morning and she came back for Christmas.

Two strangers ate together in silence.

But now, the space between them was no longer heart breaking.