This morning is maybe one of the most unspoken and poignant jiffy in my life. What is it? I am now handing a photograph, an old photograph to be exact, maybe a couple of decades older than I am. Of whom? Well, a person… a great person whom I barely know. We didn’t talk that much nor shares common visions or secrets. But no one and nothing in this world could ever veil the fact that I owe this person a lot!
Every morning, this person is one of those busiest bees. But oftentimes, many are too occupied to become aware of that, including me. This “someone” I am talking about almost dedicated her life just to provide us with healthy meals and good clothing. She was not able to enjoy the sweet taste of fruits or chocolates and I must know that because she always fakes me with the alibi saying she already had her part. I’ve only seen her with tears three to four times though in reality I know she is at all times in a deep pain. I remember attending a poster-making contest that implementing the theme of visualizing your hero, majority of the participants painted the battle over the high merit of history but definitely the one with a great edge that outstand in the competition was the one made by a young boy that beyond doubt I believe that he is owning an older heart. This art piece reminds me of something--the photograph I have seen this morning. With a trace of youthful glow and innocence, the picture reminds me of a youthful heart dreaming of a blissful life with her ideal family. She is undeniably one of the people who loves and cares for us unconditionally yet we often neglected this part of the story.
How much time we are spending with our friends laughing and crying? Does it equalize the time we spend with her? With a great advancement of technology that jammed up the attention of the youths -- even thought of technology as a powerful creator of virtual friends-- has anybody ever evoke paying attention to her advices or care for a minute of talk with her? I still retain the vision of the child’s eyes in the poster-making contest--that intense feeling of being proud as he received the medal while holding his masterpiece. The poster shows a picture of a woman, not a woman with a myth beauty but a woman holding the splendour that no words could ever cage. With a pearl-size sweat that runs in her dry skin traces with age-lines, the woman is seated on a wooden bench brushing dirty jeans out of the dirty clothes that was worn by the family over a week. Absolutely this naive child sees her mother as a hero. It is a shameful moment for me, for I have never thought of how she plays a big part in my life as much as the fact that I never thought of her becoming my hero.
While the photograph still jogs my memory of her beauty that gradually steals by time, everyday of our life would always hark back of her greatness as a woman of passion, patience, reverence, braveness, concern and fidelity. Now that I am hearing her cracking bones, seeing deep pain searing as she walk, completely aware of how much she fight the coldness of the night that caused her too much ache--I know that my hero is weak for a battle. But then, I do not think I have said how much I admire and love her. So before I and you loses our grip over the time, and before this materialistic world thwart us of appreciating extraordinary individual in our life, let us take time to be thankful for them and learn to know their worth. In this world we can be offered with unlimited stuffs but only our mother could offer us her life undoubtedly… So the next time you would think of your hero, would you consider her as one?
--- Alicia N. Magtira ---
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