In Memory Of My Mother



When I was a child, I remembered my mother used to grind spices using batu giling. It was a hard work, each time she prepared us curry. She sweated even before the real cooking session started.

Those days, having served chicken curry was a luxury. To catch chicken is a half-day work. My brother was given a task of chasing them; he was pacing up and about the small compound, trying to tame down the roosters and yet his voices were heard throughout the whole kampung.

Mother is the best chef I ever know. I used to tell my wife: I like your cooking, but my mother’s cooking is still the best. To my surprise, she never jealous over my mother. She knows simply, like it or not, I have to surrender eating her cooking.

When my mother was dying in my hospital, my entire family and I went for our daily visit. I remember, sleeping on the floor almost every night, watching the computer screen and doing my work while she was sleeping on the hospital bed.

I knew her last moment has came up, when I correctly called my sister to return back to the hospital even though she had safely reached her home in Seremban. Once she and her family reached the hospital, my mother exhaled her last breath.

Today is a Mother’s Day. I know I would never met my mother again. But all the thoughts about you raced my mind as I ventured closer through pictures and albums.. I knew all I witnessed is my past memory. And tears dropped from my eyes..Al-Fatihah.

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