Broken rose

I remember the day I made my Mom cry. I am not a hostile person and I don’t harbor ill feelings towards anyone especially my family…or Mom. Vivid memories of my childhood no matter how happy or tragic it was, still haunt me like it only happened yesterday.

I don’t recall of ever saying how much I love my Mom. In fact, I grew up with a lot of insecurities, being rejected openly is the key to my aloofness when I was growing up. Being alone most of the time made me feel complete and happy somehow. I think my cousins think I am some kind of a nut case back then though they never said a word, actions speak louder than words.

Waking up in the morning and eating breakfasts together with my family is one of the most exciting part of childhoold. I would openly sit in the corner with Juki, our family dog, and eat voraciously. Though I would rather stay that way, me being oblivious with all the hooplah and endless chatter from my family, Mom would always look at me and not say a word about the situation.

I would often locked myself in my bedroom, listen in the radio, read a book and just be myself. I was a loner. I am still a loner. If you ask me now if I would do the same thing I did back then, I would honestly admit that no, I wouldn’t dare do the same thing again. I love being with people, all the people that love and care for me, I wouldn’t even trade them for any thing in this world.

I remember the morning I made my Mom cry. I couldn’t get up. My body ached horribly. I complained of having a terrible headache. I thought I would die right there and then. I was sick for months. My Mom patiently cared for me and though she never utter a single word of how I felt like I was some kind of a burden to her, I know that she love me. During those days, I would pretend that I was sleeping and I would hear my Mom sing a childhood lullaby. Mom never tried to finish the song. Her singing is often replaced by silent sobbing. Hearing my Mom cry for me is the most unforgivable and unforgettable thing that ever happened in my life. It hurt like my heart is being cut into a thousand pieces and never be in one piece again.

How could I hurt my Mom like that? Why did I let my Mom suffer so much? Those are questions that I still ask myself after so many years. I considered myself a broken rose then. As I recall of the past, I am glad I have Mom in my life. I know for sure without any doubt that my Mom will never read this (she’s not into computers…:) ), let me at least dedicate this open letter for her.

It’s a simple yet powerful message for you, Mom….Arigato gozaimashite. Okasa, I love you.

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