If Not Her, Then Who?

My mom turned 50 today. Double my age in number, half my age in spirit.

I see my mom as a child. When I see her excited to eat ice cream, finishing work quickly to watch a movie, smiling at a dairy milk, splurging on online products that organise her things, using talcum powder religiously, asking me curious questions, updating me about a new progressive stance she agrees with, telling me all about her day when I call her, imitating someone who annoyed her, or having the biggest smile on her face when I return home, I see my mom as a child.

I see this child as a girl. I don't know how I went from shielding myself from her whacks to becoming her very shield, but somewhere along the way our roles flipped. I used to think our roles reversed, but I can never physically bring myself to be annoyed with her, leave alone try to return her death stare that I so feared growing up. So it's more of a role flip, than a reversal, I believe. Quite simply, she's no longer the strict mom who loved the word "no". She's now just my girlie who I rant to, watch films with, share views with, enjoy quiet tea time on the balcony with, yap about all the characters in my life with, and most importantly, just be a girlie with.

I see this girl as my mom. When I was a baby, I would cling on to her like a baby monkey. Oh how she hated it. Leave alone letting her go out of my sight, I won't let her move beyond my physical reach - some part of my hand will always be touching her. I think I still figuratively do this - she's my safest space to run to, rainy day and sunny day alike. Except, as a child, my default bio-setting was to run to the mother figure, but as an adult, it's my conscious choice to keep running to my maalu.

And as long as I can, I will. Because if not her, then who?

I know you're reading this. Happy birthday maa. 50 is nothing. The world is yet to see the most fire collab. It's just the beginning.