Posted: June 29, 2014 in My Philosophical Musings
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Mom, why should I say thank you, thank my mother? It seems so little to me, it seems a distant and worn out word, to the point that it sounds lacking and almost offensive. I am flesh of your flesh, the fruit of your love, the expression of your fullness, the creature of whom you are the creator, to say thank you, politely, and with gratitude, my voice just cannot. It is not, but to me it would seem an act of haughtiness. I would rather comfort you mom. When I see and hear you, hopelessly cheerful, hopelessly busy, while you are pushing old age away from you and with your superhuman rustic energy keep at bay and dare the passage of time, I would comfort you. I too, can see the autumn path you are walking through, because you made me when you were a girl and we both have had the joy to be close for 18 years and more coming: you, my mother with your euphoric fighting attitude, perpetually sowing, a mother who does not even allow herself to stumble, and I the daughter whose hair is getting, everyday, whiter and whiter. Eighteen years at the age of eighteen are an enormous difference. Today these 18 years of mine are a sweet distance and after all a small distance that allows us to sit at the same table and together discuss mine (that you gave me) and of your life, both made– by the passing of life– a bit wiser and sometimes a bit sadder. Comfort you, I was saying, is what I would do. I would tell you: think, mom, what an adventure we have gone through, what a special fairy-tale we have had to perform, from flats in a small city and half world tour till today here! I would tell you: do not be so proud of your daughter and of the way she writes, that is not what counts. Be proud of yourself, instead, of your virtues and of your wonderful defects that have formed me, of your determination and of your courage, without which, I fear, I could have done nothing. Tenacity and courage in giving birth to me, in growing me, strong, and unsatisfied, never submissive.Courageous, in teaching me how to be courageous myself: you have shown courage since you chose to adopt me, still a baby, in your endearing and comfortable arms, and I got home-schooled and then high schooling now so that, somehow, learning to read, write, and do arithmetic I could then deal with life in the best way. Perseverance, courage, and support, always at all costs, to make the others know me. You that during my first speeches at my school, were the one who scorched her hands clapping louder, you who promoted my first drawings, art and my articulation of languages and my flair for writing, who would raise my voice to the local people, you, who could accompany your daughter Zainab to the end of the world, just to make her happy…You who are, basically, trying to do the same today, and there are some who smile at that, while I feel consumed by emotion and gratitude. Mum I would like to comfort you, I would like to see that mountain you have climbed through your life turn into a gentle stroll on a slight slope, a happy, serene and long old age, warmed by the smile of those who own life to you, surrounded by that love that, when you give (as you did your way, without ever sparing yourself, rolling up your sleeves, and opening your heart every time the sun rose) fatally returns. I LOVE YOU, MOM! :’)

Yours affectionately,

Zainab Sajid.


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