I have lived with my mother for nearly two decades, but, to my surprise, almost all of my articles about my life have the least words describing my mother. Perhaps it is because she hasn't done anything remarkable, when compared to my father. It may also be the fact that she is so close to me that I easily forget her effort on me. Whatever it is, she is quite like a crew member behind the scene. It was not until Mary reminded me several times of what my mother has done that I realized the existence of her effort.
As a mother, Mary went though the time of raising children so that she understands my mother very well, though they speak different languages and live in different countries. No big difference is there when it comes to mothers, I think. Inspired by her reminder I wrote my first article specific to my mother, but it didn't turn out to be good when I re-wrote it in English based on Chinese structure. To make my "full" promise to Charles (HeOteal) and Mary, I tried to re-write it again and posted later on this special day. Still, bad comments on it are especially welcome. :-)
Wish all mothers all over the world good health, well-being, and love from their children!
Jenny*******************************************
"Dear me!" I heard Mom exclaiming in our balcony. I walked up to her and saw her pointing at our plant. "See? My jasmine is about to bloom!" She said to me proudly, "One day my girl will 'bloom' also." I smiled and then walked back to my computer room.
It was a miracle that the plant would be able to bloom as it received reckless care from Mom. I am not exaggerating when I say "reckless care." When the late fall came Mom "killed" all the twigs she thought would be worthless. Throughout the winter, she simply left it alone in the cold temperature on the balcony. She waters it irregularly. She never cares when insects bug it. She is a careless mistress.
Not only to the plant does she care recklessly, she also raised me in a bad way. An example for this is an incident years ago. Because of my poor bodily condition, I couldn't go to kindergarten to learn the things other children did. My mother, who always had the eagerness to help me excel others, decided to teach me time one day she was off work. She took out a watch, pointed at the numbers, and asked me to memorize the different way to say those numbers. Quite difficult for a four-year-old. Be it because of my dull head or the way my mother taught, at last I didn't acquire the skills of saying time. All of the sudden my mother's hot temper got erupted. Thus, the class ended up being filled with my tears and her harsh words. That night Mother left home for work with anger and disappointment. Despondently I asked my good-natured father, "Am I really too dull to learn it?" Seeing his sweetheart's confidence broken apart, he took the turn being my teacher. No scolding, no fear, I easily learned it so well that my father showed me his proud. Since then I have respected and loved him more than Mom.
As my knowledge increased Mom stopped teaching me a long time ago, but she never stops working with her tongue. Thus, all through these years fights often took place between Mom and I.
Sometimes I would get nervous for no reason when walking on the street and Mom hates this. Very clearly I remember that summer evening two years ago. As usual we took a leisurely walk after supper. But I got nervous again. Soon harsh words from Mom blasted its way to my ear. "Tell me what you can do! You get tense by simply walking on the street! You'll become nothing! Nothing!" Unable to bear no more, I yelled at her at my full energy, too bluntly for me to care about where I was. Immediately, all the people turned to look at the furious daughter and the astonished mother standing there transfixed. Just then I noticed something that hurt me racing through my mother's eyes. With humiliation and anger, she hit me in the presence of all. I freed my hand from her grip and frantically ran homeward. Her scolding, my grievance, and my self-blame seemed to slip away as I ran. One thing, however, that neither slipped nor could I escaped from, was the hurt I threw to my mother. A few days later when Mom mentioned it, she simply said as if she had no fault, "Did you know that you were in danger? What if you stumbled or ran across vehicles?"
Sometimes, when she gets tired she will say, "God knows my sin in my previous life, so He punished me now!" Comments like this, which often made me feel I owe her so much, are her vibration of life, as well as her regret bringing me to this world. It seems that all of the so-called miseries I've experienced were made by her. It brings me helplessness. I am grateful, however, that I haven't been influenced by her poor attitude that had her blamed on every thing. My perception is that learning to accept this seemingly unfortunate life gives you more room for optimism. I regard it as something that relieves me. I try hard to tell Mother my idea, but she is so far away from tolerance to accept it.
But today our jasmine was going to bloom. Besides its strong endurance to live, what else does it have to help it bring Mom its best gift----flowers? "Some day my girl will bloom also" echoed in my mind.
Mom's rough words scared my heart. Fortunately the Internet came into my life and healed up the scars as I poured my troubles in my friends' email boxes. At the same time I looked for a solution to the relationship between Mom and I. "You can hardly change someone. Only can you change your way to adjust the person," one of my friends once told me. I realized in a moment that from cries in my childhood to conflicts in my teenage years, all were covered up with a purpose that to force my mother to change the way I wanted to. From the beginning, I had been neglecting that Mom gave me life, bore the brutal fact that her daughter has the disability, quitted her job to pay maintenance efforts for me.
Now I know what makes the plant bloom! It's gratitude. It's also gratitude that has made me have a completely different view of my mother.
Though she failed teaching me time, I learned a wonderful lesson of how to cope with discouragement and setbacks in my early years. Through her scolding I became good at determining what to forget. Most importantly, I discovered a change of view able to bring a huge impact.
When I was little, Mom spent all her spare time reading stories for me. At the time she was so learned that there was no Chinese character she didn't know. Now I often joke that she is "Mrs. Know-nothing" when she reads out load. Combined with the accent of her hometown, she reads tardily, with occasional pauses in where she gets stuck. When bumping into a word she doesn't know, she just takes a guess by the way it looks. Family chores are the very factor in causing her "illiterate". She is busy preparing for three meals with wild variety every day. Her good cooking has led me to being picky and my friends to praising her with their thumbs up. Along with cleaning and caring for me, she has little time to sit reading a book. Though her complaint and nagging, too, have become a part of her daily life, is there woman who repeats the same daily rituals for over 18 years?
As a housewife who stays at home all the time, I used to think Mom was very chary, and sometimes, timid and suspicious. She doesn't believe in friendship, for she is afraid to suffer losses and to be cheated. She dares not to go downtown all by herself, for she is worried about being lost and running into unexpected matters. She will not walk down some desert street in our area at dusk, for she assumes such a quiet place is best for robbers to take action. But, when I was an infant, she took the pills to that I had allergy to test herself. Now, when my friends pay visits, she acts very generous with her hospitality to make a joyful atmosphere for her daughter.
She has few friends because the situation doesn't allow her to. Throughout the years she juggled her family with her work, she often got tired but was happy with chitchats with her co-workers. Since she retired in the early forties, she has had the radio and the TV set to entertain her when I study and my father goes to work. I try to persuade her going to find some friends, but she rejects, "Who will do all the family chores if I go out to play? I'll go if you do." Despite staying at home all day, she doesn't seem to be lonely, because she "got used to it."
I asked her several times what her biggest dream is, and her replies were exactly the same. "My only hope is see you able to take good care of yourself. Otherwise I will not be able to close my eyes when I die."
"Wait and see! My jasmine will bloom," Mom told me a few days before it grew white buds. Her faith in God has made this presage become true. Now she was so proud of it that she told everybody she knows her jasmine was going to bloom.
I've been thinking that there may be another possibility to make our jasmine bloom. It may not feel mistreated by its mistress. Cutting twigs and the cold temperature are just for it to grow better next year. Some insects help fertilize the earth.
"Some day my girl will bloom also." Is my dear mother able to see this day coming? For the sake of her love to me, I sincerely bless in my heart...
