Been here before...

Another Monday or another week is well and truly started. I'm back in my spot on the cubicle in the 37th floor in my office, bopping along to music that only I can hear, trying to stay awake as I meet another work deadline. Hurrah *not!*

My mummy arrived in KL yesterday after 5 days of being outstation. Ergh.. scratch that. I always feel geli whenever I call her that. Lets start again..

Im gonna see Mak when I go back to her house again this week. Since I’ve been married and I don’t live there anymore; the situation will be slightly different now, because I will be more like a guest visiting her at home.

But since my dad has requested me to come over 2 days earlier before Mak’s arrival, to clean the house since my father will not be there on the day of her arrival, I knew that I just have to come home because it is always hard for me to say NO to any of his request.

Anyway, I've been counting the days to her arrival with much trepidation. She isn't the easiest customer. Actually, she's the customer who will drive you up the wall because she sends her steak back three times, the first because its overdone (I said Medium-well, not well done!), the second because the sauce wasn't separated as she instructed (I told you to serve the sauce separately!) and the third time because it was the wrong sauce (Black pepper! There are no mushrooms in black pepper sauce!). But because of her demanding nature, she is very well respected in her field. Anything that has my Mak's signature is sure to pass the most stringent of quality controls. And because of that same demanding nature, we've always been accustomed to the best that she can afford. Never mind that we always breathe a great sigh of relief every time she says she won't be having dinner at home. Altogether now *haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah*

So you can imagine the high stress levels I have been experiencing when I was in school, what with juggling schoolwork and my Mak's arrival every time she came back from outstation. My father took to calling me every morning to remind me of what needed to be done before her arrival. Yes, Ayah, the carpet has been combed out and the bathroom is spotless. Yes, Ayah, I have everything ready. No, Ayah, I don't mind to cook for dinner. Yes, Ayah, I'll make sure I get her Nescafe 3 in 1 ready. *sigh*

But now that she's back, I suddenly feel a piercing emotion I've never felt before for my Mak. You see, I am now 5-6 months preggie. Im a few more miles to start my motherhood journey. Im gonna be somebody Mak too. And when you are at my stage, you slowly start to see things differently. And that what is happening to me.

She and I never had the same camaraderie that she and my big brother enjoy. With us, there is always this quiet uncomfortable silence, of two people who know that there should be more said but nothing comes to mind. And she has always been that distant figure in my life, the one my father reports to when something happens and where we turn to for financial backing. I know that I'm a complete leech in this case, but I have to be honest and say it like it is. Yes I am a leech on my mother's existence. But somehow, I've never felt as bad as I do now, looking at her.

For the first time, I see my Mak as an old woman. So scared of estranging me. So concerned for my well-being but unable to show me that she cares because showing emotions doesn't come easily to her. She shows it to me in the things she can afford to buy for me and the easy life she gives me.

But I, being the fool, have always failed to see that.But as I watch her treading carefully around me, without my father or my brother to act as a buffer between us, I realize that she is haunted by the same trepidation as I feel. Even more, perhaps, since she remembers me longer than I remember myself. And I am sad - that I am so formal with the woman I call Mak. That I don't know how to give her a hug. Or tell her things that a mother should know about his daughter, her only daughter for 25 years. The laughter always feels strained, and the advice is always careful, careful. She makes sure she puts a disclaimer at the end of every sentence, because I am an adult, and she sees that. She affords me more respect than my father does, and yet she is the stranger. She is the one I don't know.

*pause*

You know, I didn't plan on writing about this. I was going to write a cute, happy entry about songs and weird people at work. Hence the now very-wrong title. But as I began typing, the whole thing just started pouring out. And now I am sitting here, stunned, and wondering where it all came from.

But I won't erase this. For wiping it clean will be like refusing to acknowledge the truth within me. And I will not lie to myself.