I sent my Mom to the airport yesterday (she was going to Singapore to cuddle my baby nephew for me) and one sentence popped into my mind: “She is beautiful.”
She has that glow – a glow that all mothers have, and she is just graceful. No, not because of her clothes, nor physical appearance. She just is.
Yet, my Mom was going with a heavy heart because this time, I couldn’t accompany her to Singapore, nor would I accompany her for the months and years to come. Inside, I felt sad myself. My parents would lose their youngest daughter, yet again.
I’m moving.
Despite not getting along with a life in Jakarta, I know I’m going to somewhat miss it. I have been a daughter once more, pampered by my parents. I have been going out with them every weekend for a year and a half. I have listened to their gossips and went out to movies and eaten pricey food.
I have been taken care of.
My Mom, asking every night on what homecooked food do I want to have for tomorrow, and my Dad, asking every time on which restaurant do I want to go eat tonight.
My Mom, going to the market every morning to buy all the necessities at home. My Dad, occasionally going to work late to have breakfast with her daughter.
My Mom. My Dad.
They are the best.
My Dad, upon knowing my shortcoming and mistake, didn’t reprimand me nor ask me why. He just said he understood, that he loved me, and he knew I would know what to do afterwards. My Dad, always trusting me.
My Mom, upon being tired with little time to rest, still cooked a first-class dinner and asked me which stuffs I wanted her to buy at the supermarket. Still woke up early in the morning to pray for her family. My Mom, always taking care of me.
My Dad, who always tells me stories and advices on life. Who always pampers my Mom and his three daughters. Who accompanies us to go shopping and pays for the stuffs and brings the bags afterwards.
My Mom, who always takes the unwanted piece of chicken on the dinner table. Who always changes our rooms’ bedsheets with fresh ones every time we get back from wherever. Who waits for her daughters to be home before she goes to sleep.
My Mom. My Dad.
Who will always love me, accept me, and support me, no matter who I am or who I will be. Who will smile the proudest when I’m successful. Who will still be there when I’m failing.
I love you, Mom. And I love you, Dad. I might not say this often enough, but I really do.
You are the best parents anyone could ever have.
Photo by Anna Gearheart
