I know.

Remember when you were a little kid and you just woke up from a nap; you’d find that there was no one around you. Complete silence except for the noisy fan. You’d go from yawning off that blissful nap to frantically searching and calling out.. “Ma!”.

I was spending time with my mum today.

This realization only kicked in when I came downstairs, after waking up from a nap and taking a shower. Smelling a trail of cologne left by my father just recently and lying on the couch with its neatly placed patchwork covers.

My mum was sad.

I stopped working a little over three weeks ago, and even before I did, I have been preparing for my departure to university. Listing out all the things I had to get done, and items to buy, grew into a scavenger hunt for my mum and I. We would look for these items and compare prices. We did that almost every alternate day.

She hasn’t been easy on me though, I thought that with the fact that I’m leaving she’d be nicer. More complaints about chores, more nagging which led to more arguments.

I’d even quoted her back her words “It’d be so much easier once you all are gone, don’t kacau my routine”.

Then, as I laid down my head at the edge of the couch I thought back to that distant look she had sitting at the table with her teh tarik. The way we spent unusually long together in the mall, she kept asking me if I needed anything else. When I walked towards her table where she was sitting facing her back to me upright in her chair without touching her tea before I sat down. I was all antsy about my next appointment, that I didn’t realize about this appointment she was trying to make with me.

It dawned on me. Despite all those things she’s said in the past, despite calling me names and making me feel like I was the most difficult in the family. She was sad that I was leaving her.

This post is dedicated to my mother. Who has helped me throughout my preparation to uni. Gave me life, fed me, clothe and bathe me. But most of all, chased me around with a cane when I was too cocky to say I’m sorry. My mother who is open enough for me to tell her about the boys that I’ve dated, and shared with me about hers but also knows that I haven’t given my heart away. The same person who never told me I was pretty eventhough the other aunties would, only until this year. And who’s grown so small.

You don’t know I blog, you don’t know I write but one day you will read this and know how much I thank God for you.

I thank God for a mother’s love.
I thank God for your love.

your daughter.

Deeper than skin

Let me start by telling you about now and how talking about this came up.

I have red patches on my skin. Behind my knees, on my feet, on my knuckles and on my right elbow. They feel dry and become insanely itchy whenever they feel like it. It feels great to scratch, but it doesn’t go away. It doesn’t stop, unless I’m occupied with something. 

I have had this since I was a baby, mine was the worst among my siblings. I don’t want to get into too much details, but when it was really bad, I hated showers. Before we knew better, I was scratching all night until I fell asleep. I couldn’t wear shorts. I was embarrassed every time I had to go up for prayer. My parents, were so good. Maybe that’s why I never want to burden them anymore. Because I knew I was a burden. The money, the worry. The money. 

You couldn’t imagine how lonely I felt. Praying that the disease would go away because it hurt, because I was scared nobody would love me like that.

No, I’m not telling you so you feel pity for me.

People usually stared and asked what it was, but I never wanted pity. I just wanted you to understand. Understand my condition, because saying ‘poor thing’ doesn’t do a thing to make it better.

I thank God that we got better equipped and changed the things we could. I found a doctor that gave me suppressants. Thing about eczema is, there’s never a cure. Yes, its your environment, what you eat.. but its never a clear answer. So I took what I got, a jab, a tablet, lotions. It was expensive, and whenever it relapsed, I had to go back. 

But I started wearing shorts and dresses, my skin cleared up so much. You don’t know how happy I was, how normal I felt.

Yet here I am today, this is what you call a relapse. I guess I pushed too hard and it is my fault. Too many extra shifts and too little rest. I usually last close to three months working, so I didn’t expect this after two months.

I promise myself, one day I will realize my eczema is not coming back. It’s been my bondage, holding me back from the things I want to do. It has shaped alot of who I am, and some of the person I’ve grown out of. I never want to be deemed feeble, because in nature I have a strong will and try to be an over-achiever. Still, I accept my body as it is, so I know I shouldn’t over do it. 

I will continue trusting that the body God created for me is stronger than this. And in time, I will see that come to pass.

 

 

lei