Mother daughter cronicles.

Reading Amy Tan's book is one emotional journey.  The main theme of her books is mother and daughter relationship which tells us about her probably most greatest influence in her llife, her mum.

I identify with stories like this.  It touches many many chords in me.  That I end up so wretched.  Amy Tan is brilliant, just like Adeline Mah, two great chinese writers that have found their way dealing with their lives and their pains, hence their bestseller books.

I do not have that great talent in language to write like them.  But at  my level, write I shall because these itchy finger are real.  If Amy Tan says, writing keeps her from going crazy, well, writing simply makes me happy.

Mother daughter.  This runs deep. Me and me mum. My mother and I. Now the girls and I.  Life do not wish for other type of challanges for me other than what comes under this subject.  I are not getting away from this all grand-scale  knots or ties or binds . Ever ever.

Then again, for all that we went through, deep down, where it is pure and true, one thing rings, we are one, right till the end.

The last day for my mother, we were all at the intensive care in USM, Kubang Kerian. I was there for already many days.  Family, relatives and friends came to visit.  Mami was getting weaker and weaker, drawing further and further.  In the afternoon, those who were close to her, whom I know in their hearts wants to be with her at that critical time, went home for lunch and would come back after that, was never meant to be.

I had to see them out since the elderly ones were quite lost in the hospital corridors.  As I saw them out of the gate for visiting hours, I really heard my mum calling me in my heart.  It says, "come quick, I am leaving".  So clear.  I ran.

A few of us were still there. For many hours, she had been oblivious to those around her or what is going on.  Somehow Mami turned to my direction.  Signaled me to come close to read the kalimah.  Of all people, she called me, the offspring she scolded and scrowled at the most.  The one she never showed any sign of approval. The one she always 'put down'.

I read the kalimah even after she had breathed her last breath and closed her eyes.  I wanted to read it all the way up there.

That is how it is.  Underneath all the miserable memories, beyond what lies on the surface, whatever said and done, the bind never broke.