Let me tell you a story…
The story of a young woman who grew up in a household ruled by a tyrannical man with little to no feelings. A young woman who would later become a mother and make the decision to start over with her young daughter in a strange land far away from home. That woman is my Mother.
The story surrounding my mother is dark and could be termed as exaggerated to a person who did not grow up as she did. It is always easy to blame the person who cut ties with family, what is never easy is walking in their shoes. My mother is quiet, reserved and rarely gets comfortable with anyone. My Mother had a dictator for a father and siblings who were trained on survival than family values. The fourth of nine children, my mother never really experienced fatherly love. She was closer to my grandma and they were known as best friends even among her siblings. It can be devastating [I know firsthand] for a young woman who grows up without experiencing warmth from her biological father, yet what hurts more than that would be his refusal to acknowledge your existence.
Still, despite my Mother’s childhood and upbringing, I never could tell she had experienced such injustice if I had not probed deeper and asked questions. My mother is full of laughter, prayers and songs. The house is only quiet if she is asleep because she is either praying or singing. My mother is my definition of strength, will, stamina and tenacity. A woman who left all she knows to start from ground zero with a child she had to provide for. A woman who bore the stigma on her chest, never once backing down from society who thought she was not good enough to stand with her head held high. My mother stood, shoulders back, chin up and eyes focused like the true Queen she is.
This woman, God’s very gift to me, would walk under the rain and sun hawking, advertising and doing whatever she could to make sure I never lacked, and I never lacked. While people around her tried to make her feel less of a woman for leaving her husband, this woman, my Mother, never lowered her head in shame. She never took no for an answer when she was rejected multiple times. My Mother is the true definition of ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’.
My mother worked with her hands proving her name’s worth. Her industrialism amazes me even today. The way she sort out trends and followed them giving the people what they want in exchange for their money. A true businessperson, my Mother could turn the situation around. She is a no nonsense woman who never spares the rod. A true disciplinarian. Her pupils loved her as a teacher. Ever flowing with hope that fuels me when mine runs low. In her mid-sixties and not afraid to get her hands dirty with work.
One thing my Mother cannot stand is Idleness. She cannot take sitting all day and doing nothing. She becomes restless and soon, she is doing one thing or the other. Most of my principles and core values I developed watching her. Work ethics, moral compass… I can count on one hand how many times my Mother was late to anything or work. My Mother is ready to carry me on her back [even now] if need be. The first one to pray for me, the last to sleep if I am not well. My number one fan and the reason I keep getting up no matter how many times I fall.
My Mother, this woman blessed by God, covered in battle scars, visible and invisible. Yet, she does not use that as an excuse to be bitter or frustrated. Rather, it fuels her belief in compassion and forgiveness. She may not look like it but she is extremely soft and tender. I do not have enough words but these I leave with a solemn promise to give you the world. One day…
