When I was growing up, every time I had a fight with mom, I would take my bike and cycle off to the grocery store to get my Chickadees.
I would then park my bike at the playground and lay on the slide under the hot sun with my eyes shut while munching on my Chickadees.
Sometimes I would fall asleep. Sometimes I would pretend to be a homeless person.
I would wait and wait for mom to come looking for me and beg me to return home…but she never does.
Most of the time I would get bored of waiting (and thirsty as hell), so I’d cycle back home with a heavy heart, having to face mom again. But heart always sank as mom would totally ignore me and continue with her chores.
I remember crawling under the bed and cry, wishing I was born in a different family, a different home.
When it was time for the next meal, mom would stand outside my door and inform dad it was makan time. She purposely would say it in a slightly loud voice so I could hear them from under my bed.
Dad was the peacemaker in the family (he still is). He would get me, wipe my face and give me a big hug. I would hide behind dad as I walk to our dining table with a swollen face and a bitter heart.
But every single time I sit on the dining, I would find an array of my most favourite food presented on the table, cooked with much love.
Mom being as stubborn as me would never crack a smile after our arguments but she will make sure I had extra portions of my favourite dish. She would scoop more rice and reminds me to eat well.
I don’t usually thank her for making my favourite dish nor have I apologized for our silly quarrels, but I always end up helping her with the dishes and cut her favourite fruits as our after dinner snacks.
Growing up, my mom taught me a very valuable lesson – Love need not be spoken in words. Love is present in everything else we do.
Happy Mother’s Day, Ma. I love you with all my heart.