There was always just the two of us: my mother and I. As if no one else, she was always there: tall, dark and beautiful.
I remembered my mother clearly. Every night, I would wait up for my mother returning from work. She always kept her promises – always brought me small things – something just to please me – always. But now she is gone, whenever, I walked passed her room, I could only see an empty room, empty bed and her no more. What is left: are memories – a lot of empty memories of my mother. I could only remember the tears and the pains – it was not easy to raise a child in the 50s with little money. Now, only one of us is left behind and I have to carry on, memories will have to do. I will always think of you - Ma.
My mother was born into a poor working class family between the World Wars. It was a very hard time. She received no education. Her father did not see the need to educate his daughter. Nevertheless, she was ambitious, she taught herself to read by watching Chinese Opera movies – learning from the sub-title. And she learned to do mathematic by buying and selling stocks. She did make a modest gain too – her grandsons were to ripe with a handsome deposit in their new homes.
My mother could be very stubborn – hardened through time. For her it was a struggle to raise her son in a hostile world. There was no man to protect her – her life was a daily struggle to feed her son. Not easy for an uneducated woman. Sometimes, I have the feeling she lost sight of the meaning of life. It’s not necessary for her to sharpen the spears every day. Life is so fragile – it suddenly collapsed right in front of you and then you realized it’s over already.
I remembered her clearly. Mother was a big fan of Chinese Operas and movies especially Yan Kin Fai and Lo Yim-hen. Whenever new movies came on screen, she would give me $0.75 to buy ticket. The money was for a seat in the front roll – we were so poor – and I had to sit on her lap. Half-way through the movie, I would fall asleep. She would carry me on her back home, up a flight of stairs. I often wondered what was it about the movies – I gradually realized it was a whole new dream-world for her – a form of escape from the harsh reality.
Last night, I took out some of her photos taken in the early 50s and 60s. She had a clear sharp feature. I must confess – I never really paid any attention before. Now, I tried to search for something – anything. I wanted to know what I had missed and lost. I only saw a hardworking woman – a tormented soul wasting away for others: for her children and grandchildren – not a moment for herself. And that’s my mother.
She never had a husband – not really. Marriage for her was never fulfilling. Yet, she struggled hard for her son – provided him with an education. In fact, my mother did quite well – in a way she was strong – much stronger than most men. She always suffered deeply when others looked down on us. But she was able to rise up once again like the Phoenix from the fire when her son had a stable job and her grandsons did well at school. She was proud of them.
It is a funny feeling for a 58-year old man and a strange one also. From now on, I will be an orphan – with no mother and father. I realize there will be no one looking out for me anymore. Whenever I ring the door bell, I wish mother could open the door for me – I miss her face. Perhaps, it is a fitting punishment for an unruly son.
Mother always longed for a home of her own. You know, we never had a home. When I was small, we used to live in my uncle’s house – depended on his charity. And charity never came easy – nothing was for free. We had to repay in tears and pains. My mother always cried in her sleep – I knew because I saw it. It is fitting, therefore, she finally found her home, in a quiet spot, a lonely grave marked with 1048, a small corner in Chai Wan cemetery. It is a place where my grandfather, grandmother, and uncle rested. Now the family of four re-united once again.
Mother, I love you for what you are and what you did. Thank you.
My mother - S.H.Shah