Friend & Companion

Whenever I read inspirational stories, or listen to people on tv talk about struggles and how they got through them, there have been ample occasions when these people mention how their mother has been their biggest rock and best friend. I read and listen as they speak praise to this woman whom they look up to amongst all other women, talk about how much they sacrificed, how much support they receive and what a wonderful, encouraging person she was.
 Most even named her their best friend. 

Sadly to say, I will probably never understand that sort of relationship. I do not have it, nor have I experienced it, and while I do believe mothers are extremely special and worthy, it is like believing something that is fact but have never been seen by one's own eyes. 

This is not meant to be a whiney post. I honor my mother and the sacrifices she has made throughout these years bringing up four children as a housewife, managing household chores, cooking food when she hates cooking, and doing all the other oddball jobs like posting mail, paying bills, making phone calls, keeping the house clean, the garden watered, and raising kids. It has not been easy for her. Her hands are worn, wrinkled, from all the washing and scrubbing during the years, her feet cracked and calloused from daily works of running up and down the stairs. Her skin is parched, tanned and brown from the bright mornings hanging laundry out and the hot afternoons keeping them in. She has done much, like any other mother, and that is why mothers are revered and are the silent keepers who are underrated, not celebrated, taken for granted. 

I have a mother, but I do not have a friend. I have someone I call "Ma", but I do not have a mentor. I have someone who looks after my daily needs, but I do not have a comforter. I have a mother who strives to keep our spirituality in check, but I do not have someone who understands. I have a mother whom I've lived with for 20 years of my life, and yet my siblings and I keep hundreds of secrets under her very nose. 

My mother is in no way perfect, no human being is. She has her faults, has her issues, has her wrongdoings. But who am I to judge, someone who is just the same? My siblings, my father, my friends, we all have dark sides. My point is, though I love and rever my mother in a way, I will never have a bond, nor a real relationship, with the woman who gave birth to me. It is a sad reality, but it is the truth. It is too late to cultivate something close as friendship, not anymore. There can only be so many dents you can put on a car before it breaks under pressure. And after that, what mechanic can repair it? 

And the sadder truth is, she neither has a bond with my siblings either. There are more often times when we struggle to admit we even love her, when we struggle with our impatience and anger, than times when we could sit down and share a quiet conversation and an occasional laugh. We have all grown now, all young adults, and while I don't speak for my brothers and sister, I daresay there is a slim chance of any of us actually succeeding in reversing what exists now. 

I did not write this all to wind down my mother, to blacken her name or any of that sort. I wrote the truth, and what happens when some mistakes made can cause irreparable damage. My mother is human, she is imperfect, and unfortunately made brash decisions that have had a harder impact. I am angry at times, but then I wonder, what about thousands of others who are sold by their parents, beaten, prostituted, abused, tortured, by their own mothers? How must they feel? To have mothers who are as heartless and as empty as a tin can. My mother loves us. She wants the best for us. In all she does, she tries her best to give us advice. Often, she is always willing to help out with anything. 

To all mothers out there, don't make the same mistake my mother did. Do not raise and cultivate your child without forming a friendship, a bond. Why raise a child if you show little or no love and affection? Would you raise a dog by training it and ordering it to obey all its life, but never give it a single pat, a kind word, a cuddle? Lastly, a child trusts you first and foremost, so do not break that trust. The more times you break it, the smaller the pieces will become, the harder it will be to piece back what has been shattered. Remember, a glass jar can be broken and repaired so many times till one day no piece will stick together. It's gone. Broken. Forever. 

And while I may not be as fortunate to have a mum as a friend and companion, I hope that the hundreds and thousands of little children being born each day will have mothers whom they can call their rock and support for the rest of my life. I hope mothers will not just be mothers, but be friends, mentors, and the one person who would understand their child no matter how old he is, no matter what situation he is in, no matter how troubled and pathetic his world may be.