If you decided to trace the imprint of my life and put together the puzzle pieces, you would not go far before encountering a central theme, a Banyan grove tree of sorts. When you go through my art, my words, my relationships and personality, you will notice a quiet, unwavering thread. My mother.
I have been most inspired by one woman. She has been my muse when I write poetry or prose, when I write true stories or fiction. The story of my life cannot be told without acknowledging the meaningful role that she has played in my life.
Like many mothers and daughters, after I became a teenager, my mother and I did not really see eye-to-eye. I was independent and assertive, struggling to break free from the burdens and expectations that had been placed on me at an early age. It caused me to make mistakes. With my mother being a very sentimental and tender woman, my behaviour made her jump into conclusions that annoyed me and distanced us even further. We hurt each other. We were both young; we had never danced this dance before.
I’m currently watching “When Life Gives You Tangerines” on Netflix. It’s a bit of a tearjerker, that show. If you read blurbs of it, you would most likely see the words “romance”, “‘love story’, repeatedly occur. What moved me the most was not the love between Ae-sun and Gwan-sik. In fact, I think that was an intentionally misleading theme in the movie. In my opinion, there was a much stronger love story playing out— one about daughters and their mothers. In them, I saw how love endured across generations, dreams were passed down, and how a daughter always carries the love of her mother with her— even in grief, change and when she becomes a mother herself.
From the very beginning, I related to the misunderstood sacrifices Ae-sun’s mother made for her. I saw myself in young Ae-sun, bursting with dreams. I empathized with her mother who went through tides and high currents (literally) to give her child some advantage in an unfair world. A few episodes in, and I also saw myself in Ae-sun’s daughter, unable to articulate her love as deeply as she felt it. Too busy living her own life that the value of her background started to diminish. I empathized with Ae-sun, whose sacrifices weren’t acknowledged as they should have been. Their story isn’t exactly like mine, but the soul of it is deeply familiar.
For many years, I have looked at my mother and heard the voice of her love through her sacrifices. It is something I can never look down on. Some people say that parents don’t “sacrifice”, they “deal with the responsibility of their own choices”. But I think that people to talk about taking responsibility like it’s the easiest thing to do. What is easy is to live life on whims, leaving situations that are unpleasant to you, selfishly pursuing your dreams at the cost of others’ wellbeing. I think that those are “easy”, more palatable to the flesh and the selfishness in these times.
I’m grateful that my mum didn’t choose easy. She chose me and my siblings. I sometimes think of the many ways life could’ve gone differently for her, if she had just been a little more selfish. But what is love without selflessness and sacrifice?
Yet, I acknowledge that I’m one of the lucky ones. My mother never imposed her dreams on me because of her sacrifices. Instead, she plucked the feathers off herself to give me broader wings for flight. Years ago, I knew that I would not wait till I am in my mother’s shoes to understand her . Already, I see the price she paid.
She’s just a girl
Growing up has taught me many lessons. One of them is that the concept of growth is very fuzzy. We live life moment by moment, day by day, then look back at some point to find that 30 years have passed. When we clock 45, the young will think that we are old; but to ourselves and our peers, just some more days have passed. We will look into the mirror to find that our face is beginning to lose the firm roundness of youth and we will wonder at how fast time goes by. Those who are young then will not think too much of it, but they will one day stand in front of that mirror wondering at time’s patient speed.
The cycle continues. Everything is tinged with blue.
There was a time when I was 16 years old. I am now years older, and I don’t feel much different. My goals are more defined, I have more responsibilities and I do not hold myself to the same standards that I did then. Yet, I am still that young girl. More polished and graceful, yes. But still her.
I imagine it is the same for most other people. I imagine that it is how growth is wired. I imagine that it is the same for my mum.
She has taken life day by day, weathering its many storms. Her life’s story is not mine to tell, yet. Almost 50 years have passed, and I’m certain that she’s still just a girl. We only get one shot at life, and she has learned the ropes on the spot, just like everyone else. My mum was in her 20s when I became conscious of a life that did not revolve around me. That puts things into perspective. She deserves the grace I give to myself.
When I came to this conclusion, it became easier to see our similarities and come to a compromise. It helped me to forgive the errors I thought she made and it encouraged me to build up my trust in her. She’s a human being, she loves me; she’s imperfect, she loves me; she makes mistakes, she loves me; she tries to understand me, she loves me.
She’s a girl figuring out life, just like me.
Her Mother’s Daughter
My memories are filled with pictures of her; making me her confidante when I was barely 10 years old, listening to new songs I had picked up in school and insisted on singing for her, wiping my tears when I felt hurt that my dad shouted at me, laughing at me for always frowning. I remember her look when I fell asleep instead of reading, how she would call me interesting names because I looked her in the face when she beat me, how much tension we had when I started seeking God for myself. I remember the good and the bad. I would be lying if I said that in retrospect, I don’t see how she was doing what she thought was best. I cannot fault her for it.
When I was younger, even before I became a teenager, I used to get annoyed when people said I looked more like my dad. Not because I didn’t love him, but because I genuinely believed that my mother was the most beautiful woman I had met. I still think so. I do really look like my dad, LOL, and I think I have his temperament but I love thinking about how similar my mum and I are.
My mum watches random videos on the internet and is moved to tears. I am exactly like that. She’s very funny and I got my humor from her. We walk at the same pace, never in a hurry. She’s a lover girl, just like me.
Our similarities are delightful, but our differences make our bond more beautiful. I don’t think there’s a more flamboyant display of love than a person acknowledging your differences and striving to understand you. I can trace our relationship blossoming to the period when I decided to give my mum grace, and she started to see that although my nature isn’t like hers, that isn’t a bad thing. When I hear that my mum defends me in front of her friends— for things as basic as my piercings or more serious like when I argue with someone older—it pulls my heartstrings and it feels like my heart might burst from how tight her love hugs me.
When we talk these days, she says “thank you for understanding me”. This is the first time I am saying it back to her.
Happy Birthday, Mommee
Today is my mum’s birthday, and this is one of my gifts to her. I hope she feels my love and pride when she reads it. I cannot possibly capture all that I have to say in one article, but I have tried. I count it a blessing to be mothered by her. I’m proud of the woman that she was and is. She’s always been a really good mum and more recently, one of my best friends.
For her.
Mother, as I fondly call you, everything is tinged in blue now. My memories of us; gentle and stable. My thoughts of the future; hopeful and expansive. It can only get better.
I’m teary as I write this note to you. I love you, mommee. I hope you feel it very deeply in the things I say and do not say. I will always be your daughter, even when I am someone else’s mother.
Thank you for guiding me through life, and baring your mistakes before me so I would not make the same. I commit to always breaking cycles and pursuing generational joy for us.
I trust you and your love for me. Thank you for understanding me. No matter who turns their back on you, you will always have a friend and supporter in me.
Happy birthday, most beautiful.
If you are in the mood for stories, here are others that I have written for or about my mum:
"I commit to always breaking cycles and pursuing generational joy for us. " Oh dear. Full blown tears 🥺
Touching and thoughtful. Nice. I hope she has a great birthday.