Words are not enough to express the unconditional love that exists between a mother and a daughter.
– Caitlin Houston, American blogger
I have a daughter and a son. Daughters are easier than sons, at least from my perspective. My daughter from the time she was born, looked up and smiled at the world. She went through her ‘screaming fit’ phases as a baby, but from the age of three onwards she learnt how to get more with a kiss, a hug, a smile and a “I love you” and became extremely diplomatic, winning hearts easily.
My son though was a grumpy child, and warrants an entire column of his own — probably next week.
From the time she was a wee toddler, my daughter wanted to be like me, and I remember her walking around talking gibberish on an imaginary phone, hands flailing in the air, with an exasperated face making an imaginary point at the age of 5 and I started laughing wondering, “OMG, is that how she really perceives me?”
She loved stories and I used to make up all kinds of stories to entertain her. She still remembers some of them, especially the weirdest ones.
This love of stories made her a voracious reader and her bedroom is a utopia filled with racks and racks of books.
My daughter’s sense of independence was strong, she would not want her parents to hold her hand or sit next to her even on the first day of school. She would tell off her father if he tried to force me to wear something I did not want to and admonish him “you cannot make her wear pokey dresses just because you like” at the age of 6.
She would cry if I assisted her
in her colouring, because I would stay in the lines and she would
get out of her lines. So, I was banned from colouring with her. (I ended up getting my own colouring book because it was just so much fun!).
She is a kindhearted girl and generous, always caring about the people around her and is a wonderful listener — my strength during the darkest days of my life after my divorce when I was a rudderless boat bobbing up and down stormy seas.
Although she was a good listener, that streak of independence made her internalise a lot of her own fears, doubts and anxieties, unwilling to trouble others with her own demons.
And so, as she entered adulthood, life weighed heavily on her. Trying to conform to what society expected of her versus what she really wanted to do.
Trying to meet expectations of perfection she had set inside her on perceived perceptions she believes she needs to aspire to.
I watched her struggle with herself — a lonely battle when you don’t think anyone else understands — and I watched
her search for who she wanted to be and what she wanted to become.
My daughter was brave enough to take stock of herself and smart enough to know what she could and could not do. I am proud of her and I tell her everyday to be authentically her, to listen to her heart and just do what she knows is best for her.
She is doing just that now — taking time out to sharpen her axe. The woodcutter who took time out to sharpen his axe cut much more wood than the woodcutter who kept on cutting thinking there was no time to rest.
I wrote this for her 25th birthday.
A quarter of a century now.
The best age to be and how!
Just spreading your wings,
Learning to fly,
Testing the winds,
Feeling the sky.
All you have learnt so far,
From people, books and life
Has made you raise the bar
And you are no longer afraid of strife
You went from gh to gir to girl
And now you are a wholesome woman
You laugh, you twerk, you swirl,
Crushing the viper & daring the demon
Follow your yellow brick road
Find your Toto,
Your Lion, Tin Man and Scarecrow
And never once be stopped by a no
Wear your fearlessness
As your brightest accessory
Wield your kindness
As a weapon against surrounding misery
Dazzle the world with your smile
Enrapture them with your wit
Go the distance, the full mile
And never question your instinct, even a bit.
I am proud of every battle you have fought and won
And the many to come you will rise above
Resilience & courage, you are the one
With your many virtues, you are so easy to love.
The butterfly has burst out of its cloister,
The woman has morphed from her battleground,
My child, the world is your oyster
And you shall wear it like your crown.
Although I never tell her this, I think about her every single day, hoping she finally falls in love with herself and realises how wonderful she is.
The views expressed here are those of the columnist and do not necessarily represent the views of New Sarawak Tribune. Feedback can reach the writer at beatrice@ibrasiagroup.com
