My Mama

“You look like your Mother”…says my 85 year old Father.

Don’t know about the looks though but I must have inherited my Mother’s strength and resilience.

Born into a poor family of 3 siblings in Melaka, my Mother was the eldest, taking care of her younger siblings. At the age of 6, she lost her Father who was the sole breadwinner of the family. Unable to cope with young kids and with no means of earning an income, my maternal grandmother sent my Mother to live with a foster family in Serendah. Back then, the whole area of Serendah was a piece of rubber estate.

It was with this foster family who were also a distant relative of my grandmother, who took care of my Mother and her younger brother. Not a wealthy family and where meeting ends meet is a challenge every day, my Mother was ‘working’ as their servant taking care of their children to earn her keep.

In later years, my Mother was to help out in the rubber estate, waking up in wee hours of the morning to tap rubber. For every kati (weight measurement used in the olden days) of rubber milk, my Mother was paid 10 sen. Her daily earnings were used for daily household needs of her foster family. My Mother never liked to talk about how her days in the rubber estate was like. I'm sure she could tap a rubber tree pretty well but she never wanted to talk about it. There's always that sad look and teary eyes whenever that subject came about.

School was never in the minds of the foster parents of my mother. Back then, girls are never given an opportunity to go to school as they are deemed to be only good in the home, get married and have a family of their own, so education was never a necessity.

My mother grew up being illiterate, she never knew how to read nor write. After she and my Father were married, she learnt to manage the family with whatever skills she has picked up through her growing up years.

But I never knew of her illiteracy until much later. My mother seemed to know everything, from telling us what is wrong or right, how to maintain the household expenses, bargaining with the shop owners for a better deal etc. So, how could she be illiterate then?

When we started schooling and had to move from the ‘kampong’ (village) house that we lived in, our means of transport to school with the ‘Aunty’ (van driver) had to be discontinued as it was too troublesome for the Aunty to fetch us.

My Mother had to learn to drive. Her most challenging moment was passing the test on road signages. As she could not read, my Mother was coached by my elder sisters. She memorized word for word every road signage on the paper verbally. It was during that time that I realized that my Mother was illiterate. My Mother had such patience and perseverance. She knew that she needed to drive us to school and she was determined to do it. Such was the strength of my Mother.

My Mother...

All these memories of my Mother came flooding back as I remember her on her 10th death anniversary. There are a lot of other memories of her, some sweet and some bitter. Sweet as she had been a good Mother, bitter as she also had her bad moments caused by hardship and pain in her earlier growing up years.

Mama....
“Back then I didn't know why
Why you were misunderstood
So now I see through your eyes
All that you did was love”

Thank you “Ma” for all that you have done for us