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Vemale.com – The story of Vemale friends who participated in the Writing Competition Letter to Mother is again made us aware of one thing. That it turns out that a mother has her own lonely side. There are even cuts that he buried himself.
It is okay. His eyes were wistful, holding tears kept tight, sticky but still radiated warm. That night, I opened a little chat with Mom. For six months I have not looked at her face this close. Age that can not be denied, Mother increasingly aging from day to day. Still remember, a short message that said her condition was on a fine scale, instantly turned into alert status after seeing the burden of trouble in Mother's eyes. Mother's eyelids can not cheat. What did Mom keep? Am I? Or the unstoppable pains of the past?
All of Mother's messages seem to have a double meaning. He covered a wound, which condenses for several days, crystallizes for months, and petrifies each year with a loner. That same night, the wound was divided, for no reason to bill the power to rectify the way of life again. I'm not strong, I'm not crying, I'm just giving a suggestion like a child who gets a lot of learning from the overseas lands. Yet the same way, this girl is also inedible daily problems that can not be avoided.
My mother gets a lot of pressure, both in her office environment and her comrades. Humbled, belittled, ignored and considered to have nothing, that's what he complained about. Suddenly, there was a small thorn targeting the pit of my heart. Mother, if I cry, Mother will cry then I will hold her, try to give suggestion that make defense inside my deep eyelid.
I can only advise./Copyright pexels.com
Everyone's done something wrong, Mother. Once, someone told me. As often as a person makes mistakes, forgive, remember no matter how small his kindness is. Despite his calm reply, he dodged it. I understand, Mother longer dive the ocean of life compared with me who only child snot. But I do not want to be silent. I wanted to keep my mother strong despite the many currents that shook the roots of his soul.
Mom, I've had a pretty big problem at college. I'm reluctant to tell my mother, friends, even to anyone. Until I dared to tell my story to a nun who interviewed me for lectures. Mom looked at me calmly, I continued, She said, I rarely focus on the little goodness that is around me. For example now I can look at the mother for hours. Try it if I do not have a strong body determination, maybe on the trip yesterday I could have a fever or a disease. Mother nodded as if she understood.
But boy, the wound is often, sharp, and unforgettable. I am quiet. That is the ultimate sentence that made me unable to answer.
The silence of the night breeze I wanted to break. My mind is getting more and more distant and deep. Being a girl or a mother turns out to be not just a status in a bond called family. Mother, a figure I often crave to be a role model, he can plunge into the boundaries of the subconscious and want to fall hidden. Suddenly I was reminded of a thing. Mom, my friend once said, when a woman is telling a story, we should not give advice or suggestion. We just listen. Maybe then, the honesty of a wound can flow and heal with the help of a meeting eye or a warm hug, "I replied firmly.
Mom has her own lonely side./Copyright pexels.comMother's eyes were teary again. He just raised his head upward, not letting the water fall, his eyelids shrinking, nodding as if to re-understand and lay down on a pillow with a mattress. Further discussions he explained frankly, the problems that happened to him, starting from the estrangement mahligai marriage until the usual problem that is not detected the location of the wound for sure. Mother is very strong. Hold him alone, while his son is on the overseas ground. Her inner turmoil undermines, demands to escape an ever more meaningless life. The people around who became his support system seemed to shrink and the flow of life began to move away from the focal point.
That night I learned, Mother, part of my parents, it turned out to have a lonely side. His life lost hope despite the existence of dependents. They do not always want the goals that we often hail, either for future success or for a well-established life in the future. Even today, getting a phone with my son's name on the phone screen they wear is an entertainment day and night, that his hope somewhere has grown and grown. Continue his dreams that are extinguished, or bring a torch of goodness for everyone to the front.
That night, I cried when my mother had fallen into a deep night's sleep. His eyes were no longer wistful but showed a new strength. The honesty of the wound was visible on our sleep which was delicious in a gray cloud but still serene. I stay here Mother, beside Mother always. Divide the wound with me.
(vem / nda)