As a kid that size, looking up to my mother, I never understood how somebody could be so tall, or so beautiful. I still don't understand now; even though now I'm physically as tall as her, I'll never come close to her beauty standards, be it inner or outer. Never.
If there was one thing everyone took most for granted, it would be our parents. Can we take a few minutes to realise everything they've ever done for us? Taking the responsibility and the burden of our weights the minute we're conceived, and from then on, embarking in a no-return flight for the rest of their lives of parenthood. Would I ever reach a level of maturity high enough to completely devote my life to taking care of my 'spawns', catering to their every needs & their every wants & making sure we stop crying & have a good night's of sleep at the end of the day?
My mother is still the most patient & assiduous person I know. All the time she's done a 'favour' for us: all the breakfasts she's made, all the lunches she has packed, all the time she's driven us around, all the time she pushed her plans back to make way for mine, all the time she lost sleep just to make our lives more salubrious, all the values she has taught us under her aquiline tutelage. I can't tell her how grateful I am, because there is no way to. It's easy to forget, it's easy to take your mother for granted. It's easy to be someone's child. It's easy to be pampered, to be fed, to be fetched around & to be entertained day by day. What's not easy is being a mother.
For years we've grown apart, I guess because of my differing views, my aggrandising lies, my ephemeralities, my insouciant arrogance, my capricious lack of consideration & thought, lack of self-worth, & absence of mind -- all the things I thought mattered, but in the end, didn't. All the things that have probably tormented my mother in ways I can't possibly begin to feel. I think I'm glad to say that I have matured past that age, in a series of painful events & through time. I would do anything if I could have that innocent, skylarking relationship with my mom again. I would do anything to fly back in time to my thirteen/fourteen/fifteen/sixteen-year-old self and tell her to shut up, don't do anything stupid, to slap some sense into her & make sure she realises all the things that I now do.
But I can't.
And as such, I can only hope that ultimately, love is able to compensate for the things I did. Because I truly love her. And true love can thaw a frozen heart, right?
Time & time, directly & indirectly, she taught me that love isn't a word, or an emotion to be more concrete, to be throwing around, flailing it wildly for anyone to grab. She taught me that no one, and nothing, is going to wait around for you forever. She taught me to put up my guard, to take care of myself, to not trust anybody unless you have a reason to.
I aspire that I'll one day actually be worthy of her praise.
I love my mom. She's a walking plethora of elegance, meticulousness, punctuality, consideration, strength, creativity and perseverance. She has like the best fashion sense I know of, and I doubt she has aged a day since 2003... You got your wish, Amoes, you're forever 18.
So today isn't Thanksgiving (like we even celebrate Thanksgiving here), but it's a day to be grateful, and to reflect over everything your mom has done for you. And try, even by the tiniest fraction, to do the same for her.
Happy Mother's Day, Ami.