178 - Mum
I've always felt like my mum was proud of me, even when she didn't say she was. It seems like I've talked about her a lot lately. Suppose it usually comes up around Mother's Day, or other dates like her birthday, or mine.. or the day she died.
My father was always the one who spoke for both of them, telling me how much they were glad of what I was doing, what I was working for. Another doctor in the family. Even when I strayed away from that, and was focused more on the technological side of things, they were proud.
No one could calculate formulas like me, they said.
And even though it was Dad who usually did the talking, I could almost tell that it was really Mum who was speaking, not him. As if she had given him a speech, written it down and made sure he said it the right way.
It was cute, actually. Endearing that he'd listen to her enough to want to say the things she needed to say.
There were certain times of course that she was the one to tell me things, my father didn't want any part of it. Like the talk every young woman gets when she's about to become a woman. Dad definitely wasn't touching that one.
I loved to listen to her talk. In Japanese especially. There was something so eloquent about her dialect. She could read me stories for hours and I'd never get tired. She'd be waiting for me to fall asleep halfway through, and I just wouldn't.
I wish she could talk to me. In that soft voice, soft but commanding.
I miss the smell of her, and the way she wore her kimono. I'd sit in her lap and feel it's softness against my face. Her steady and patient hands when she made me wear one for the first time. There was a lot of silence between her and I growing up, but it was never harsh. It was filled with love. Maybe she wasn't as soft as other mothers, but that didn't matter to me.
I knew the meaning behind the words.
I'd give anything to hear the silence again.
My father was always the one who spoke for both of them, telling me how much they were glad of what I was doing, what I was working for. Another doctor in the family. Even when I strayed away from that, and was focused more on the technological side of things, they were proud.
No one could calculate formulas like me, they said.
And even though it was Dad who usually did the talking, I could almost tell that it was really Mum who was speaking, not him. As if she had given him a speech, written it down and made sure he said it the right way.
It was cute, actually. Endearing that he'd listen to her enough to want to say the things she needed to say.
There were certain times of course that she was the one to tell me things, my father didn't want any part of it. Like the talk every young woman gets when she's about to become a woman. Dad definitely wasn't touching that one.
I loved to listen to her talk. In Japanese especially. There was something so eloquent about her dialect. She could read me stories for hours and I'd never get tired. She'd be waiting for me to fall asleep halfway through, and I just wouldn't.
I wish she could talk to me. In that soft voice, soft but commanding.
I miss the smell of her, and the way she wore her kimono. I'd sit in her lap and feel it's softness against my face. Her steady and patient hands when she made me wear one for the first time. There was a lot of silence between her and I growing up, but it was never harsh. It was filled with love. Maybe she wasn't as soft as other mothers, but that didn't matter to me.
I knew the meaning behind the words.
I'd give anything to hear the silence again.