Momhood

When I see kids holding their parents' hands, I just get amazed. How could have I grown away from that phase of my life? When did that start to happen? When did I start growing up?

Sometimes, I just get to thinking how I grew up into a "woman". Sometimes, I wonder when I started thinking on my own, deciding for myself, choosing everything for myself. 

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I remember the times when it was just impossible for me to go to the salon on my own, to get my hair done. I would wait for my mom's consent before I even trim off a few strands. I could have never bought stuff for myself (except the street foods I bought and ate secretly since my mom didn't want us to buy these foods from the streets). My mom always had to be there. 

It's a wonder to me when I started just informing my mom, not even asking for her permission. It's like, "Mom, I have a flight on this day or that day." or "Mom, I won't go home until this day or that". Somehow, it feels natural, but when I think of it, I am just... wondering. How did it happen?

I can't remember the last time I asked her permission for me to do anything. Did I withdraw from her guidance and direction? I mean, she's still so special to me, but it's just that I don't wait for her to allow me to do anything anymore. And it's such a mystery; I can't remember when it started. 

What is so lovely about all these is that even if I go from places to places, and I find myself away and afar, I'll always have a destination. And it's home. And when I get there, I find this woman waiting for me, asking me the stories I just collected, asking me what I wanna eat, ready to wash the clothes I've just used up, waiting for me to tell her when I'll be away again, and hoping I wouldn't go too far, that I'd choose to stay.

Maybe motherhood is a trivial matter. They say it doesn't end. And I hope it shouldn't, because I still cling to my mother at a lot of times. But maybe the job description changes as the child grows up. And maybe it really takes too much heart for one to even consider being a mother. I guess it really takes much bravery to decide to be ready for it and to be one.

One day, I'll be further away. But I know somewhere in a little home, someone would be waiting for me, and it may take years and time, but she'll be waiting... ready to hear the tales of her wandering child.