Ma, I love you, but I wish there is no need to have a whole town waving me good bye.
I do not want you to fuss over feeding the guests, or where they will sleep, whether their bed linen is spotless enough for them to lie on, whether the room is in a temperature comfortable enough for their wailing babies to sleep in.
I do not want to spend my last few days in the country answering questions from guests who only come once a while, which will probably be repeated multiple times:
- Where are you going?
- Which university?
- What course?
- How far it is from Malaysia/Manchester/Liverpool/Nigeria etc.?
- Can my family and I stay with you when we go to London?
- Can I give you some list of things I want from London?
- Don’t you feel guilty leaving your mom all alone?
Instead, I wish I could spend the last few days conversing with you, taking walks, going for lunch and giggling about the cats wrestling with each other. You know, our time together.
I am writing this because you will not hear any word of what I am saying, and that you always put others’ needs before your own. I want, for once, you put yourself first.
Because I love you, Ma. You are the only one I have now.