A Mother’s Love and What It Means To Me

At 5pm yesterday I got my CCA trial results in the midst of orientation. Once again, just like the tragedy that was sec 1, I failed to get into anything. I had expected this actually, because my self-confidence was completely wrecked after sec 1. I never believed that I could get in to a CCA without a retrial or compete with my batch mates, even in things like writing which I spent a lot of time doing. Whrn I saw my results I really wanted to cry; no matter how prepared I was for the rejections I was still sorely disappointed. I had put a lot of effort into my trials anyway and had fantasised a lot about getting into some of them. I wanted to cry but I couldn’t because I was still having orientation, I didn’t want my new OG mates to see me so vulnerable.

In fact, even when I got home, my tears didn’t flow, I was just too busy thinking about how to appeal for another CCA and avoid joining recreational badminton. It was only when my mother walked into the room and hugged me that the tears started to stream down my cheeks. My mother, she had been with me through the trials, she knew how much I had worked and how much I had longed to join the various CCAs. She bore the brunt of my frustration when I couldn’t get my chords right and my pent up stress as I anxiously awaited phone calls. Even though she didnt enjoy it she tried her best to help me practice for my rock audition, she patiently listened to me thump out horrid sounding jazz chords. I never thanked her for this but I was always grateful for her love. Perhaps the only reason why I could cry around her was because I knew that she would understand my pain, and because I knew that she loved me.

It must have saddened her to see me go to bed with swollen red eyes and to wake up pretending that nothing was wrong, but she kept up her cheerful facade and tried to make me feel better in her own ways, whether it was allowing me to blast my favourite music in the car or giving me a ride all the way to school.

When I got home from church today, I cried again, but for an entirely different reason. There was an envelope with my name written on it on my study table and it was a letter from my mom to me. Despite all my failures she encouraged me that God had a plan for me, and constantly reminded me that she loved me, no matter what CCA I was in. These were things that I already knew, but it was such a lovely reminder and gesture on my mother’s part. Just like me, she’s great at expressing herself through the written word, especially when it comes to things that aren’t easy to say out loud.

A mother’s love (and a father’s one for that matter) to me can be defined as such: Understanding, unfailing, unconditional

They do so much for us, what do we children do for them in return?

Thank you, Mummy. I love you.

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