When I was growing up, every time I had a fight with mom, I would take my bike and cycle off to the grocery store to get my Chickadees. Then I would park my bike at the playground and lay on the slide under the hot sun with my eyes shut while munching on my Chickadees. Sometimes I would fall asleep and sometimes I would pretend to be a homeless person. I would wait and wait for mom to come looking for me and beg me to return home but she never does. And most of the time I would get bored of waiting and thirsty as hell that Id had to cycle back home with a heavy heart, having to face mom again. But almost all the time, mom would totally ignore my return and continue with her chores. I used to crawl under the bed and cry, wishing I was born in a different family until it was time for the next meal and even then, mom would just stand outside my door and tell dad to inform me it was makan time. Dad would get me, wipe my face and I would hide behind dad as we walk to our dining table with a swollen face and a bitter heart. But every single time, I would find my most favorite food presented on the dining table, cooked with much love. Mom being as stubborn as me would never crack a smile after our arguments but she will make sure I had extra portions of my favorite dish. I too never thanked her for making my favorite dish nor have I apologized for our silly quarrels, but I always cut her favorite fruits for our after dinner snacks. Love need not be spoken in words. Love is in everything else we do. I miss mom. I guess its time to head home.
Posted on: Mon, 15 Dec 2014 08:27:56 +0000
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