Little Miss Sam Love.

(Dedicated for my Mama. Thank you for the love and support!)

You can only truly love a person when you are willing to sacrifice. Sacrifice is one of the hardest endeavors in this world. But once you feel the electricity, then ignite your heart and yield love, bravery will be triggered. You can conquer any odds for that person you love the most.  You will be selfless, and as much as possible give your whole for that person, you don’t care if you’re empty as long as that person you love is full.

            I am full.  My mother poured me with all that she is.

When I was a kid, a preschooler, I was left with a maid who took good care of me while my mother and father weren’t home and working. My father was at the other side of the planet, looking for the lost world Atlantis J while my mother was working in a private all girls’ school, her job was to use a typewriter latter, a computer, her job was to make the students’ exams and their reading assignments. That’s why I owe her my knowledge of Olympus and other Greek mythologies (she’s the one who introduced me to Zeus and the other Olympian gods, yeah, they have a tight bond especially if my mother was tasked to type a reading assignment about them.)

  I remember, when she was bringing me along with her in the office, there’s no other school I wanted myself to study except there. I dreamed of wearing their uniforms, I dreamed of being one of the cheerdancers, I dreamed to be one of those English speaking students. But sadly, my mother didn’t want me to feel the burden of waking up very very very early in the morning (our house is several kilometers away from that school), so I ended up to be in a school where I can hear the flag ceremony at home J I went up to a school few blocks from our village, it’s not the dreamy type, not the high-class type, but it’s one of the best schools in our neighborhood, I can say, ‘coz it’s my Alma Mater. During that time, I was starting my primary education, my parents were already having trouble to whom will I be left with and will take good care of me since my father kicked out the previous maid due to quite unclear reasons (I am sure Atlantis was out of that). I was aware of that moment since I am already in the operational stage. But I never thought that that was a big issue for them. I was sitting in the stairs, I was listening to their conversation but my mind was so immature then, I didn’t understood a thing they say, all I know was that my mother and father talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and the rest of their conversation was history. What was left in my memory after that talking was my mother bringing me, for the last time (which I had no idea) in her office, to pass her resignation letter. I looked at her that day, in her face was not happiness, though she kept on smiling saying goodbye with her colleagues, her eyes weren’t. She cried, though I know that tears can also be of joy, however at that very moment, her tears were of dismay, of sentimentality, of hesitation, of doubt if what she’s doing was right. Nevertheless, the resignation letter was passed. And the next thing I knew, she was waking me up at 5:30 am, seeing her not wearing her office jacket, not smelling her shampooed hair, not kissing my forehead and saying “goodbye, see you later”, but she’s waking me up with her night clothes on, bushy hair, morning breath, saying “wake up, your breakfast is ready, you’ll gonna be late for school”. Then I knew that she sacrificed one of the important aspects of her life. She’s a beautiful career woman, a lovely working mother, yet, she gave it all up, because of me. She became a full time “Homemaker” (which she preferred to be called rather than a “housewife”), no computers, no deadlines, no paper works, instead, cooking for breakfast and lunch, waking up early, fixing my hair, making sure my homework’s done, washing the dishes, cleaning the house and all the household chores, which I can say harder than when she was still in the office (who says I didn’t recognize and appreciate those? Of course I do.). Her entire life changed from then on, though still, she maintained being a lovely homemaker. Every lunch time she would go to school and bring me my lunch, put a towel at my back, and asked me “how’s school?” She has a new job now, and that’s to take good care of me, to look after me, to make sure I’ll grow to be a fine, respectful lass. Her hands did these all.

 I am a very sick child then, certainly not the mental type. Several times I was admitted in the hospital, diagnosed with the usual childhood diseases, from Dengue Fever to Typhoid Fever. One person who carried the vast load of hurt and worries was my mother, she thought of how would she save me from my own burdens, how would she drive me away from the alleys of sorrow and weakness, how would she be a steadfast mother to me. She laid me on bed, she wiped my skin with the cold soaked towel, she placed thermometer in my underarm and checked it from time to time if ever my fever depressed, she’ll be relieved, she bought me cerelac (yeah, I know it’s for babies, but I love it, sorry I have weird taste buds when I’m sick) which I requested, she read me great stories until I got rested. All was done by her hands. Her healing hands, (not like of those quack doctors, she’s not quacking), but genuine and precious healing due to its indescribable warmth, to its tender motherly touch, to its spirit of sacrifice, to its everlasting love, During those sick moments, everytime her hands would touch my skin, I felt like I was already healed, my feeling was light and I was again at the state of solace. Her thick, rough workaholic hands like of a sandpaper J (which by the way I have inherited from her, though I am not as workaholic) can make me at ease, make me protected and well taken care of. She did a great job being a mother to me. I felt secure as long as she’s with me, I like her healing presence than those of the Doctors and Nurses in the hospitals where I got admitted, they were so stressed, and they stressed me out too. Absolutely not my mother, she’s different, hers has a positive aroma (not that I love stressing her) for me ‘coz that’s when I realized I was filled up again, my fears had left me, and I am safe in her caring and healing sandpaper hands 

However, not all mother-daughter relationships are smooth all the way, we argue sometimes, mostly petty things turned out to be serious ones. I am not a thick faced junk who can’t understand someone’s feelings, I am feeling what my mother was feeling, if I was hurt, I know she’s hurt worse, and drastically worst if I was the one hurting her. That’s the time her hands would be transformed from healing sandpaper hands to becoming disciplining “real” sandpaper hands (you can relate to me once you get either a slap in either cheeks or a hard pinch in your tiny flexible ears J well, its normal). I can’t stand the situation whenever we fight (one, maybe because of the physical aches I was getting, but dominantly, it’s because of my emotion, my guilt). All of the wonderful deeds of her hands came flashing back, and that was incomparable, hence, my ego would shed off the pride and the aftermath, I begged for forgiveness which eventually after maximum of 2 days would be granted to me, and we’re back again to our sweetness and craziness.

My mother is a certified perfectionist, that’s why it’s manifested in her motherly approach to me. Though, she knows that nobody’s perfect, with her meticulousness she will try to be an inch far from perfection, and I thought she’s expecting me to be like that too, actually it’s fine with me, I got her point, it’s for the better, yet, sometimes striving to please her (like reaching for at least 95% of being a perfect daughter ) hurts me ‘coz I am not even close to that rate and seeing her face disappointed, would add much enough to hurt me more, I need and want to please her, ‘coz she already pleased me every now and then, especially when I recall that she made a biggest decision of her life being a full-time mother to me, she can just leave me with others and continue being a working mom, but she still submit to be at home together with me, her sacrifices are significantly remarkable, she didn’t just fulfill the mother’s job description, but she exceeds the expectation of a daughter in a mother. It will be unfair for her if I will just be a loser daughter. I love my mother, and I want the best for her, yes, maybe she knows that, but I am afraid I feel she doesn’t feel much of that, and it’s my intention to make her feel that truly I want the best for her. Love is unconditional, yet, still, if someone will love you, like for example your parents, you don’t want to throw hate as an answer back to that love, we want to give love too in return right? So that’s what I want to give her, and that’s my way of letting her feel it, to be a better daughter with sense. She gave me all the love in the world, and as much as possible I want to give her more than that. Thus, I can say she again did an excellent job of raising me.

My mother is my best bestfriend in the world, while my father is the best idol I have. Together, they made me whole. They made me live as a good and happy human. I am so blessed by God with such wonderful parents. I am satisfied and super grateful for them. Each day I live, I am getting happier and happier, seeing them still beside me breathing and laughing, calling me “anak”.

There’re no other hands that will have the same effect as hers to me. The warmth, the healing, caring, securing, protecting, angelic, and loving hands of my mother, are the hands I want to have if ever I will be the one in her place in the future. Those hands which made me what I am today, those hands which lift me everytime I’m stepped by others on the ground, those hands which direct me to righteousness, those hands which brought me closer to God, those hands which marked handprints in my heart to signify an everlasting and unconditional love from a lovely woman of grace. I am not just grateful, I am genuinely grateful that I am experiencing the embrace of her sandpaper hands (warning: Effective in polishing a wooden heart but not applicable in “real” hard woodJ) and so I am proud to say that my favorite hands in the world are from MY MOTHER’s.

(Source: myfavoritehands)