Love You, Maa

"Write an essay on your mother."

I stare at the homework written on the blackboard. The bell rings and I get up, ready to go home.

I sit in the bus and wonder what to write about my mother. I close my eyes and think about my her.

She's a woman with an average height and dark hair which has faded to grey over the years. Her round face and soft cheeks always welcome me to kiss her. Her big black eyes that shine when she's happy and the creases on her forehead as she wonders what to make for dinner. She looks worried most of the time but when she smiles, boy, she's the most beautiful person on Earth.

She tells me stories of when I was a kid. How I used to eat anything when she fed it to me. I want to tell her that I still would but stop myself, thinking about the karela she might make me eat. When I was a kid and couldn't sleep, she'd rest my forehead on her lap and sing me lullabies. No matter how many classics, bestsellers or award winning books I read, the story of the pink bird will always be my favorite.

When she's tired she takes my hand and keeps it on her eyes. She says it will make her feel better. I try to give her a massage when she has a headache or her back is paining. Despite my best efforts, I know she still has the pain but she always thanks me and kisses my hand. When I sleep with my arms and legs over her, she'll sometimes randomly start massaging my legs because she feels happy.

I love it when she likes the tea I make for her. She still sends in Papa sometimes to check on me when I'm in the kitchen alone. She warns me to hold the heavy bowl of milk with two hands. When I'm near the stove when she's making roti, she will always remind me to stay away from the handle. Whenever she thinks I might skip and fall down, she'll scream at me in warning.

When she started working again, one day I cried because I missed her. Home doesn't feel like home without her. I remember she came home early to be with me. She knows what I'm thinking before I say it out loud. She knows something's wrong without me telling her. She cracks jokes on me and defends me seconds later. She listens to me rambling on about what happened at school. She gives the best comeback suggestions to me except they are a bit too late.

She loves me no matter what.

The bus pulls to a stop in front of my house. I get down from the bus and enter my house. I see Mama sitting on the sofa and I go to sit beside her. I hug her and kiss her on her cheek.

"I love you, Mama."