If mothers are comparable, then I would compare my mother with French bread.

 

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Crusty. And dry.

 

My mum and I don’t share the mushy mushy kind of relationship.

 

Whenever I throw tantrums and bang the door, she turns a deaf ear. The only thing that could catch her attention is if I happened to vandalise her furniture. I used to bang her teak chairs to the floor just to annoy her.

 

When we quarrel, she would ignore me just as I would ignore her. And when she’s sorry, she would never say it.

 

Unlike other people, I don’t write my mother’s cooking in the favourite food column. Because my mum doesn’t know how to cook ๐Ÿ™‚

 

When I confide my problems in her, the most inspirational words she has ever said is probably, “You’ll get through it. Btw, you know the other day I bought…….,” and when I cry to her on the phone, she would ask, “Why are you crying?” and then change the topic.

 

 

Like I said, my mum is just like French bread. And just like French bread, she’s crusty and dry- on the outside but soft on the inside. When you take a bite, it melts in your mouth.

 

When one of my rabbits died and I was so sad that I vowed never to have another again, she ignored me. Yet the next day when she came back from work, she brought with her a box with a grey baby rabbit inside it.

 

When I asked her to send me to places during my pre-driving days, she would refuse directly. And just when I was about to sulk, she came to my room bringing the car key saying, “How come you’re not ready yet? I’m not gonna wait.”

 

When we quarreled and she refused to talk to me, though she never said sorry, she made amend by buying presents and pretended nothing happened.

 

She says another yet she does something else. That’s my mum for you. I didn’t think I ever understood her. But as the years passed, and as I spend lesser time with her, I seem to know her better.

 

When before I thought my mum was weak, with time I realised how amazingly strong she is.

 

I see her strength whenever our maid is not around. Not used to house chores, she works hard to run things as smoothly as she could. Seeing her trying to figure out how to use the rice cooker, or watching her sweeping the floor, I realised that my mum is far from weak. To be able to adjust and adapt for her family, my mum becomes a person worthy of my recognition.

 

I see her strength during our many shopping trips together. How she always insist on buying me the nice things instead of buying them for herself.

 

I see her strength whenever we quarrel and make her cry. Instead of slapping me and throwing me out of the house, she forgives me 2 minutes later.

 

I see her strength in the way she handles our family’s financial crisis, should it arise. During those times, I don’t remember having to cut on my spending because each time, she manages to pull it off.

 

I see her strength in her unconditional love for me, the kind of daughter that frankly, if I had one, I would be needing the patience from heaven to deal with. Or to make things even simpler, I would just kick her out of the house.

 

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I realised that

even though my mum doesn’t pat me on the head and soothe me down,

even though she turns away when I cry,

even though sometimes she tends to say the harsh words,

and even though I still sulk and throw tantrums whenever she does those,

I know you love me mum. Just as I would always love you.

 

Thank you, not simply because you’re my mother, but because in your own ways, you’ve raised me to be who I am today and for putting up with all my ridiculous demands for the past 19 years (I’m still 19 ok!). I know it’s no easy feat.

 

Being my mum isn’t what makes you great. It’s because you’re an amazing person on your own ๐Ÿ™‚

 

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And oh, with lots of love, please baked me loaves of horlick bread and don’t forget to buy red bean pau ya! I want at least 4 ok.

 

Happy Mothers’ Day ๐Ÿ™‚

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