SORRY I grew up too fast, Ma

In every picture or video that I see which takes me back to my childhood, I notice myself clinging on to my mother’s arm. If a picture was being taken without my consent (yes my ‘consent’ was needed even at an early age!), I’d hide behind her back, or bury myself under the folds of her sari. But I’d always be there - right next to her.

Now that I flip through the pictures on my phone, I cannot seem to find any picture with my mother! The pictures on my phone card utilize hundreds of megabytes and NOT ONE of them is with my mother. How and when did things change so much? :/

To this very day, Ma has been my support system. I know many mothers who would hesitate to defend their children in front of other family members, just to ensure good family ties. But my mother isn’t one of them. I know many mothers who would restrict their daughters (I’m saying this because I come from an Asian background where girls and boys mingling together can be a big deal) when it comes to keeping friends from the opposite sex. But Ma? She can never be one of them. On the contrary, just last week she helped me bake cupcakes for all my friends, even when she noticed that the name on the cake belonged to a boy. She has never shown any signs of doubt when I talk to her about the world I see in my dreams. She believes in them even more than I do. She has never said that my ideas are unrealistic, because she believes in the power of my thoughts. She always reminds me that I’m capable of so much more than I can ever imagine being.

She was the one who would wake up in the middle of the night and get me apple juice when I was admitted to the hospital; just because she thought there might be a possibility of me craving for juice when my eyes open! Even when I come home late from a concert, or an outing, she’ll stay up till 2am if she has to, just to make sure I don’t go to bed on an empty stomach. She is the reason I write today because if it wasn’t for her, I’d be oblivious to my writing skills. She was the one who bought me my first journal so I could record my “pretty thoughts” and cherish that point of time.

Ma and I are two completely different people with barely much in common. She likes white because it’s a subtle and pure color. And I love red because it’s bold and powerful. She’s sensitive to emotions and cries when her heart wants to. I avoid emotions and have too much ego to let go of tears. Yet despite our differences and conflict in opinions, she’s my sole back-up and I’m the very core of her mental strength.

I’m sorry Ma, for being too engrossed in my life that I didn’t pay attention to the new recipe you learnt. I’m sorry Ma, for coming home late and stealing away your sound sleep. I’m sorry Ma, for all that you have to endure because of my careless nature. I’m sorry Ma, that you don’t get to see me around as much because I always have “other things” to do. I’m sorry Ma, that my shoulder is not strong enough to help you lift your burdens. I’m sorry Ma, for growing up way too fast.