How far would you go for, for your child? Well my mum definitely went the extra mile for me.
My dad left my mum and me when I was 3 but that didn’t bother me because my mum played both roles very well. My mum had an extremely good job, good enough to cover all of my expenses and hers. We lived in a beautiful house, furnished with designer goods, our kitchen would always be filled with fresh meat and ice creams that would make your taste buds scream for more. My point is, we would never run out of food. What was my mum like? She was like everyone’s role model. She was beautiful, slim, and photogenic. Her hair would flow like silk, natural beauty was what made her glow. When she goes to work, she would have a perfect hair bun, wear heels that makes her look like a super model and used to cradle me in her arms till I fell asleep then she would leave. I would always boast to my friends how fancy and poise my mum was.
My mum never did want to tell me what she worked as, each time I asked her she would immediately change the topic or turn a deaf ear on me. My mum always came home during dinner time so that when I ended school, I would come home to see food on the table and every day without fail, I would come home and receive a bright smile from my mum.
Of course years have passed, I grew up, I made new friends, and I stopped coming home for dinner. By the time I came home my mum would be sleeping on the couch with a book in her hand and cold food on table only to find that the ants were having a feast. Whenever I wanted money to go out with my friends, my mum would never hesitate to give me more than I asked for.
I got older, got a job, got a boyfriend that was husband material. I started coming home as and when I liked. Every day without fail food would still be on the table and I would always scold my mum for wasting food like that. In fact, it became a habit for me to just clear everything on the table without me even having to take a glance at it. I would hardly see my mum, by the time I came home, she would be sleeping and when she was ready to leave for work, I would be in deep sleep to be awakened by the slamming door when she leaves.
Years went by, my mum started getting old, unfortunately no one lives forever and it was my mum’s turn to go. I didn’t expect anyone to turn up except for family members but surprisingly a lot of people turned up and I’ve never seen any of them before. Some were dressed like they lived on the streets and some didn’t even look local. Why would my mum associate with anybody like that? So I decided to approach each one of them and ask them how on earth they would know my mum. I walked up to the man with yellow stains on his tee shirt, “Excuse me, may I know how you knew my mum?” The man looked at me and smiled, “The last time I saw you, you were just a little girl. Me and your mum used to work together, remember?” No I don’t remember! My mum didn’t tell me anything! “And where is that exactly?” The man gave me a curious look, “At the chicken rice stall nearby your house?” My jaw dropped. I noticed an old lady holding a broom stick so I decided to approach her next, “Aunty, why are you holding a broom stick?” The old lady wiped her tears and looked at me, “I have to go to work later and your mum and I would always have a cup of coffee before we go for work. She was my only friend. Now who would be there to tell me stories about their daughter or grandchildren?” Grandchildren?! Are we talking about the same person?! “I don’t mean to be rude but what grandchildren? And what has she told you about me?” The old aunty leaned her broom against one of the chairs, making herself more comfortable, “ She told me about how she would cook your favourite meals every day and how excited she was to see your face when you reach home and how she would miss you when she had to go to sleep without seeing you.” Tears started rolling down my cheeks, “And what about the grandchildren?” The old aunty took out another piece of tissue, “Your mum told me how happy she was that you found a man to make you happy and she would always make jokes about you having a lot of children so that when she grew old all of you could take care of her.”
I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to walk away. My mum had to have two jobs as chicken rice seller and a sweeper to let me experience the perfect life. I made that woman who was a role model to me, feel like an object just occupying space in the house. I didn’t even show her the slightest gratitude. How could a magnificent woman like her give birth to a monster like me?