She was always around, when my father was absent on his sailing trips. Life with her then was in essence the same as was in Indonesia: she was around. It didn't matter where I went, how long I was gone for, I knew where to find her, and that was all I needed.
That is, until she discovered that the neighbours played mahjong*. It was alright at first, since she'd take me to the neighbour's house during weekends and I'd play with the kids there. I was pretty happy with the arrangement, cause I made friends and she only played during weekends.
Then one weekday afternoon, I suddenly returned home to nobody. It was unlike my mother to just not be around, I didn't have any numbers to call at the time, the regular neighbours were not around. I searched the small apartment, looking in every conceivable place until I grew fearful.and I thought: She's been captured!
(I was really into UFOs, crystals and ESPs and such when I was a kid.)
I quickly worked out what happened: there were no overturned furniture or items, which means it was quick (no skirmishes), no notes asking for ransoms, which means they're coming for me.
My heart almost leapt out of my mouth when I heard the door unlock - I'd very quickly put the broom away, for any thing that needed to first unlock the door is very probably not an alien, which in turn meant I must not be seen brandishing a broom like that or risk embarrassment for years to come. But I'd better be prepared, just in case. So I hung on to a mug, swung it once or twice for luck.
With my chin at a defiant angle, empty mug in hand, ready to lob when I recognised her shape.
"Ohit'syou," I squeaked, chin angle still defiant but relieved that she's alive and well, and that - and that it wasn't an alien that came through the door.
I put the mug down, and sat down, suddenly a little tired. I tried to act normal. Of course, it very odd to have the table stacked full of crockery and a bucket of ever conceivable form of a missile beneath it. She, of course, didn't know of my battle plans - but I can't be sure: I didn't make excuses and she didn't ask any questions.
I was kinda glad she hadn't been sucked into the cookie jar through a cookie portal by aliens. She apologised for her absence, and I took it, after telling her loudly that I was very worried! Please tell me where you are or at least leave a note! I was close to calling the police! Please don't do this in the future!
She agreed, but sadly, that was the beginning of a long series of disappointments and disappearances.
The new crowd she eventually got to know weren't as nice as our original neighbours. They would smoke, cuss, be aggressive, so much so that there were times when she would return and vow never to play with them again. But return she did, and often, for that one person who organised these mahjong games was most persuasive, so much so that my mother would forget things like my birthdays (we celebrated those with a traditional meal of sweet noodles and a boiled egg), my competitions - till one day she wrote winning 4D numbers on my test papers that I realised - ah, she doesn't love me.
Of course, it couldn't be further from the truth, but it certainly looked that way to me then.
Especially when I asked for a cake to celebrate my birthday, she made excuses, saying, "Cake, cake. It makes you gek," and denied me my cake, because it sounded like gek.
Gek is Teochew (a Chinese dialect) for endure, always used in association with financial hard times.
I was so shattered at the level of blind superstition she wallowed in that it disgusted me. During that time she also alternated between 4D, mahjong, and senseless sleeping, even during the day. She would also say things like, "it's meaningless to live," "it's better to die."
When my father was in town and regular plate acrobatics would take place, she would even say things like, “你拖累我!” - "you're a burden to me!" and alternate between fearful wakefulness and sleep even harder.
When my father wasn't around the crockery population would stabilise, and she would return to the 4D, mahjong, sleeping and grumbling. I had no idea that was depression# then. Thoughts of hopelessness, a sense of helplessness and altered sleep cycles all point toward that, but - alas, I did not know.
That's when I began to despise her, and everything about her.
Mahjong, Buddhism, sleeping, forgetfulness, and most of all, her obvious fear of my father, and that contemptible weakness for staying with my father which intensified as I grew into adolescence: it meant I too will have to stay with him, this detestable man who abused his power and position as sole provider no end. Where was that backbone I heard so much about? Where was it?
I stayed over at my Fourth Aunt's practically every weekend through this period. My aunt's place became my halcyon from the chaos between the bully and the bullied, the politics of school life and actual studies. I would be overjoyed at arriving at my aunt's on Friday evening, because that meant computer games after dinner and through the weekend (Double Dragon, King's Quest series, Heroes of Might & Magic, Red Alert, Warcraft etc) - and I would be so sorry to have to finally return home at the end of Sunday evening, because over the games, over the plush environment, over family meals eaten together - my aunt treated me kindly and reasonably.
Things were in order in that house, normal. And she taught me manners and responsibility, treated me like an adult.
And I grew to love and respect this petite lady who I would come to know and regard as the mother I never had but was fortunate enough to have in the family. Without her and her quiet, steady influence, Loren Xue would never know how to say please and thank you. She also taught me, through her ways, gratitude.
My aunt is, in short, is my benefactor, having tempered my impulsive nature and my abrasive tongue that I developed to defend myself against my mother's verbal assaults. My aunt was also proud of me, in a way my mother never seemed to be at the time.
My mother, in typical Asian fashion, would often push me in front of guests and say, "how ugly!"
It was her way of being humble, her way of fishing for compliments as guests would quickly leap in, in Asian courtesy, to contradict her. Those needless gestures hurt me, and I quickly developed the habit of telling her off when I understood, thus embarrassing her and stopping those insulting and demeaning social situations.
My aunt, instead of all that, would say, “好好做,” - "do it well." And through that, I learnt kindness.
I thus began taking pride in what I do. Which meant I did well for art, became team captain for badminton in school and was sent for competitions for both athletics and badminton, scored consistent As for languages and writing, and won myself trophies when I took part in singing competitions.
My mother would know none of these. I accumulated trophies like a magician sprouted rings, and she'd never once seen me in action. This went on till I went to polytechnic, the equivalent of college in the US. The only consistent things she would tell me during this time were: "no boyfriends until university!" and "study hard, or you will go back to Indonesia, and everyone will laugh at you."
She also never knew that I used to hit people when I was a junior (yes I was a bully - I beat people into submission), that I was disliked in high school because I was cocky (to cover up the insecurity I had over my lack of beauty: I had started to develop teenage acne then), that I was openly detested in polytechnic because I was very good with language and I knew it.
I didn't show restraint, for nobody showed me restraint. Not my mother, not my peers - certainly not my First Aunt, following my parents' divorce when I was still in high school. My father had caused a lot of drama and trouble involving my First Aunt, Fourth Aunt, his CID friend and threats both veiled and outright. My First Aunt, along with the rest of the relatives on my mother's side (with the sole exception of my Fourth Aunt and her children) had been taking potshots at me ever since
It didn't matter that I was disliked in school - it was like that with blood ties anyway, what can my schoolmates, pfeh, schoolmates, do? Hurt me harder? They haven't the currency.
But I digress.
When I protested and fought back, my mother called me rebellious and other names I didn't deserve. Ugly names like "slut", insulting names like "monkey". She would use vulgarities on me, which offended me deeply. She would taunt, I would react. Whatever venom she had imbibed I returned to her. However much she hurt me, I would hurt her doubly, and she would triple that, causing me to retaliate -
It was a bitter existence.
She was never like this when I was small. Never fought in my presence nor raised her voice at me or at others... but like how I did not recognise depression, I failed to see the difference.
I despised and disliked her more and more, thinking of her as an uneducated, uncouth female (not even a woman). In fact, I thought of her as this, for she would follow me and talk and complain and nag till I closed my door. And because we shared the same room she would open the door and talk and complain and nag till I pointed out that it's been an hour since I've returned and she hasn't stopped to take a breath.
She would then get offended and really talk. Which would prompt me to spew a few retaliatory words of my own, and leave the house with a perfunctory slam of the door. Of course she would then use that to call me rebellious to my aunt, who would then talk to me.
---
Gladly, all these alleviated when my mother finally filed for divorce during when I was still in high school, when my father broke her prized buddha statuette.
That was the one thing she held dear, for I guess she wanted salvation more than anything else. A way out of the abuse, so to speak. But how do you expect a clay figurine to save you? It's like expecting your radio to get up and smack sense into your enemy just because you pay attention to it every day.
...it was not until earlier last year, in 2011, that I understood how much of a backbone she had.
She came from a good family. One of the richest in the area then, as my grandfather was a very successful rice merchant in those days. She was beautiful, and she too had a temper. She was strong and would often row the boat out to neighbouring islands and back, just for the heck of it - she needn't bow to anyone.
Then she met my father. My father's a longtime family friend, given that my maternal grandfather and paternal grandfather were very good friends during their time. But she never really noticed my father until (she says) my father wore this shirt with very unique tailoring - and subsequently through interactions with him, fell in love.
My father's abusive streak was apparent early on before the relationship even began: my Second and Fourth Uncles objected to their relationship, as did my Fourth Aunt (Fifth Aunt by right, but she's the fourth girl, so Fourth Aunt stuck with her) - but my mother was stumbled and stung by jealous pride and thus married him anyway despite knowing his true colours.
Thus came the regret that would span more than two decades.
---
At the time I knew I had to gain independence, and quickly. So I chose the path to quickest financial independence (three years in the local polytechnic as opposed to five if I headed to a junior college then to the university).
I've consistently regretted the move over the years, even though it was necessary. Thankfully though, I'm taking steps to get a degree come 2013, an Honours Degree in Banking an Finance.
But I digress.
My mother, after the divorce, has since mellowed. She sees the love I have for Jesus, had begun asking about Him since September this year. I'm so, so glad that she is joining me in my love for Jesus and my portion in Heaven. She deserves the happiness and joy that comes with having a Shepherd such as He.
...I write this, so you know that - well, even though your mother may be a virago now and is impossible to live with - there may be reasons that you don't yet understand. This period in time will be rough, because she's supposed to understand you, but truly, only God can know your every thought.
Your mum, like me, like you, is only human.
'Cause this too, shall pass. It'd also get better, I promise. Just... hang in there.
---
*A four-player tile game that involves a quick mind and people-reading. A bit like poker, only way more strategic. It's apparently highly addictive, but
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