Love of a Mother
Reentering a place I never should have left.
I was once a fighter.
A fighter for my thoughts. A fighter for my rights. A fighter for my heart. I bore and clad the armor of the worthy and dignified like I was a respected intellectual because my brain was as powerful as the world itself. Mummy taught me to be kind, to be honest, and to fight those who dare insult me and my identity. I was five when I pushed a girl to the ground — she said the curls of my hair made me look stupid and the dried skin that trailed around my lips made me look like a clown. I had terrible eczema, and I didn’t like my curly hair. Maybe, I took my mother’s advice in a literal sense rather than pondering about what it meant to fight the right way.
Mummy — she’s the reason why I fight.
I fought with my tongue instead and grew up to develop the tongue of a spitfire just like my parents. Mummy says as a middle child, I’ve got the best and worst of both worlds. She still tells me off when I can’t seem to keep my mouth shut with a glare that shakes me to the core. Yet, I am close to her. She’s my mother and mentor. I used to talk to her for hours over Vietnamese food, sat outside a stall located in the basement of a rundown mall, about everything and anything under the sun.
I stopped doing that, and I don’t know why.
2019 was the year of firsts. I entered college for the first time. I shared a class with boys for the first time. I was doing well academically for the first time. I had more than two friends for the first time. I dated for the first time. I fought for many things then. I fought for my grades because the money used to pay my tuition was solely coming from my parents’ pockets and I didn’t want to be a waste. I fought for my friends because they make me smile. I fought for a relationship I thought was pure.
2019 was the year I stopped fighting for her. I drifted away from her.
When everything fell apart, all I wanted was to reenter the life of my mother, to reenter the arms of her embrace, to reenter her protection. I wanted to feel safe again because all the things I fought for turn their backs against me. My grades were fantastic, but it wrecked my mental health. My friends are fun to be around but they always let me down. The boy I thought I loved left me without a reason as to why.
Through gleaming eyes, I look at my mother because she is my only source of strength even when hope ceases to exist. A mother deity, her slender fingers stroke along the locks and tangles of my hair and caresses my scalp. She whispers words of love and assurance as I hold her so tight. I cry and sob because every time I fight for the sake of love, I depart with bruises and reopened wounds.
“Wearing your heart on your sleeve isn’t bad. Mummy always taught you to be kind, and you were only doing what was right.” my mother said with a gentle touch to my shoulder.
I was sat in her room by the edge of her bed with the unpleasant feeling of my throat closing up. I stared at the tremble of my fingers and when I stole a glance, she was watching me with those somber eyes. I hate to see Mummy so sad.
“I’m sorry.” were the words that left my lips.
An apology for leaving the one person who truly loved me and for the hurt I have caused her. I always had trouble apologizing, but it felt so natural for my vocal cords to reverberate the formation of a sentence and for my mouth to curve in articulation and pronunciation.
“Sorry for what? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Never have I felt so foolish. I cry about being used when I am the one who has used the love of a mother for my own selfish needs. The love of a mother is unfaltering and unconditional. She taught me to love your friends and enemies, James Taylor, books, and Rom Coms.
Mummy — she’s the reason why I fight. She’s the reason why I love.
My arms reached for her and I reenter a place I never should have left. All I want is for her to feel the love of a daughter and the love of a fighter she created.
