On entering my bedroom after attending my mother's
funeral, tears beaded my eyes as soon as I caught a glimpse of my
mother's portrait. The portrait which we gave her on her
fiftieth birthday, was so well painted that it really looked like
she was smiling to me. Running a finger softly on her favourite
antique rocking chair, I recalled everything about mother.
Mother got married when she was very young and had a happy
marriage. But, her life changed since father's demise in a fatal
traffic accident. Having my younger sister and me beside her,
mother worked hard to keep our stomachs filled and our needs
attended to. In times of despair, she struggled hard to vanquish
an excess of sorrow and put her attention upon us, the jewels in
her eyes. She never blamed or complained to anyone, nor did she
shed a drop of tear, although at times she was in dire straits.
Mother, in my memory, was always strong and optimistic.
She stayed as uncomplaining as a lamb in those difficult days
where, during lunch, she did not know where dinner would come
from. She believed that there was no point in shedding tears.
"Life is not a bed of roses", she used to say and therefore, she
struggled on, doing all kinds of odd jobs. Her only hope then
was to make sure her two daughters grew up healthily and became
"somebody" in future. Our life had not been fulfilling after
father's death, but mother managed to meet all the expenses by
working hard and being thrifty.
Mother was a beauty after all. Although years of hard work
had left wrinkles on her countenance, her beautiful emerald green
eyes sparkled like diamonds, revealing her determination and
compassion. Her long curly auburn hair had always won
innumerous admiration and praises from those who knew her. I
had, also, always admired her beautiful hair. I remember once I
complained to mother, "Mom, why isn't my hair like yours ? I
don't like my straight black hair, it's like father's "
"Your black hair is a present from your father, daughter.
Your father had left you nothing, except your look, your hair,
your very self and your intelligence. Appreciate them, just like
I appreciate you," answered my mother. I have learnt to like the
colour of my hair ever since.
We inherited a small bungalow from father, and that was all
he left for us. Mother worked as a piano teacher, but she did
many other jobs to provide us with luxuries which, to others, were
mere necessities. Before we could afford a car, she used to take
buses to her students' houses. It was tiring, of course, but she
never let out her temper on us, no matter how strained and
pressured she was. "Energy and hopefulness, like faith, move
mountain," was the answer she gave when people around her started
to worry about her.
Mother had never failed to fulfil her duty. Every day after
she had gotten home, she would prepare food for us and guided
us in our studies every night, no matter how exhausted she was.
Knowing the importance of education, she paid much attention to
our school work and studies. We did not want to let her down,
and therefore, worked hard to achieve good results. As a
pianist, mother also taught us piano. It is to her credit that we
are able to appreciate music and play beautiful piano pieces
today.
In her spare time, mother would do some cooking and sewing,
She was a genius in cooking and baking; her dishes, cakes and
cookies were always mouth-watering and delectable. Her recipes
were so unique that, until now, I have not been able to find any
cookies that are similar to or taste better than mother's own creations.
Mother had so much artistic talents. She loved sewing and
painting. When her eye sight was still good, she would take time
to make us dresses. She was also a fine artist, oil painting
being her speciality. Her masterpiece on country scenery is
superb and incomparable in beauty and liveliness. At times, I
would regret that I had not learnt nor had I inherited mother's
artistic talents. On the walls of my living and dining room are
some of her art pieces which I treasure with all my life.
The antique wooden rocking chair was one of my mother's
favourite items. Whenever she was free, she would sit on the
rocking chair, rocking gently and nursing a cup of sweet-smelling
herbal tea, while reading a book or listening to the radio. The
moment she sat on the chair, she looked so peaceful and relaxed,
as if all the tiredness, tension and pressure had gone. Both my
sister and I loved to see her so relaxed, as we knew that she
needed the rest after a feverishly rushed day had left her
drained. Mother loved the old rocking chair because it was a
present from grandfather before he passed away. Though faded,
the rocking chair still looks solid after all these years as a
result of my mother's gentle care.
In our neighbours' and friends' eyes, mother was a
humanitarian. She was ever ready to lend a helping hand whenever
people needed help and, she never failed to give alms to poor
old beggars because she knew what hunger was like. Mother would
also give food to stray dogs and cats as she believed that the
showing of kindness to animals was an extension of our kindness
towards other people. However, when she saw able-bodied beggars,
she would tell them off for being lazy. That was my dearest
mother whose kindness and generosity had a limit.
Whenever she could, mother would want us to do some charity
work in the church or the home for the mentally retarded. So,
from young, we have inculcated a feeling of compassion for the
less fortunate. It is for this reason that today, I am very
active in charity work and hold numerous posts in some charitable
organisations.
Like any other human being, a kind-hearted angel like
mother has to go back to the Lord. In her sleep, mother left us
at a ripe age of sixty-five. By then, she had nothing to worry
about, as all her efforts had come to fruition; sister and I are
successful career-women and we had made our mother's wish come
true. Though she has gone, my mother is constantly on my mind
and I cherish every sweet and bitter moment we spent with her. I
am gratified for all she has done to make me what I am today. My
mother is, and will always be, the angel of my heart. Having
recalled these reminiscences, I wiped away my tears and emerged
from my bedroom, a stronger person.
