It was Ramadan.
Grandparents' house was a stone throw from mine so I always spend time after school there. Papa and Mama worked all day so me and brother always at grandparents'. Bro was out playing. I was watching TV.
"Hey, let's go home."
It was Mama.
She stood in her nightgown. That same old green nightgown I can't picture Mama without. She loved it so much. There was a smile as she held out her hand to meet mine. That very same hand she used to cuddle me through the night all those years. All the veins and softness.
I reached out and we walked home together.
We said nothing as the sun sets on the horizon. I held her hand close. She smiled throughout our walk, watching me. What was she thinking? Was she happy to see me? Or was she happy to take me home? Or was she happy that I'm her daughter?
I didn't ask. I held her hand tighter.
/
I remember that particular scene as if it's from a movie. It played like a broken tape over and over again in my head every time I conjured an image of a mother. It was the moment. My most treasured moment.
My Mama was my home.
I put my home in a person. An entity. Rather than a building, a specific place. I tag a home on a female that gave birth and raised me with all of her perfect imperfections. A wonder woman in my own term. Her whole was a home. A sanctuary. A nirvana. Everything perfect and soft and nice.
Probably the reason why I'm so lost right now was that I don't have a home anymore.
My home was in her arms where I feel the safest. In her brain where I swam in the endless pool of knowledge and wisdom. In her words where I drink in the beauty and elegance. In her hands where I can hold and hold them and know she will be there to love and accept me for who I am. On her feet where I want nothing but to wash and wash them forever because heaven is said to be there.
I didn't map out my future then but one thing I know for sure is that I painted the image of my future with her inside.
And she's not here today.
And here I am absentmindedly waiting. Waiting for her to come up in my dream and scold me. Telling me that I've done things wrong. But also hug me later because I tried my best without her by my side.
I am lost.
Probably until I finally came home again then I won't feel lost anymore. Maybe. Most likely.
But there's a piece of Mama in me. I'm her daughter. I'm a manifest of her in much smaller form. I'm a fragment of my home.
I think it's enough to make me feel like I'm home already.
So for now, I will walk on.
See you when I come home, Mama.
/
A mother. A warrior. One of a kind. 1964-2002
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