I intend to pay tribute to one very special person through this post, my Mama.
As a son, I was the kind who has always been dependent on my mom. She makes me coffee in the morning; she washes my clothes; she cooks (even when she admits to not being good at it).
I do not wish to overemphasize and say she is the perfect mother because she is not. Nobody is. But she is close, and that’s more than enough.
Like other families, there are also rough times. When I was a kid, she always scolded me for a lot of things, mostly repetitive. The stains on my pants, the crayon drawings on the wall, the spilled coffee, the broken glass, the clutter, the TV which was left on ‘til daylight, the missing needles.
When she raises her voice to call my attention, that’s when I knew she loved me the most.
Until such time I grew up, but she still scolded me anyway. Now more quietly, more tamed. And unlike the old days, I listen to her because I clearly understand now that she only wanted the best for me. And I tell her how I feel about things, about my degree, my best friend, my plans after graduation, things that happen every day in the workplace.
Sometimes she doesn’t get what I mean and I know it when she doesn’t. But it’s enough that she pays to listen, no matter how senseless my stories could sound.
She understands my tantrums because she carried me in her womb. She knows I don’t feel well because she fed me in her chest.
I know of her sacrifices. She was a woman of strength who endured pain and all. She had to take the bullets so we won’t get shot. She had to be the feisty cat so the kittens will sleep sound. In the end, only someone who truly cares will bring out the worst in her to bring out the best in you.
Thanks you, mama.