Mah Mee Ya

“Mah Mee Ya” is what I call my mom. Sometimes, I call her “Mah Mee”, but I normally don’t because it sounds a bit childish to me, even though I am still a child in many ways.

The most common thing I hear my friends or anyone say is “Mom” or “Ma”. My wife thinks that it’s cute that I call my mom “Mah Mee Ya” and wants to call her that one day as well. I smiled when she told me that, but there is also a part of me that is sad.

Life is like a very rocky car ride for many people in which the doors are never locked and sometimes open on their own, scaring the crap out of you until you learn it’s all just an illusion. People try to learn to not fear so many things and just close that door every now and then. Unfortunately, a lot of people don’t learn this and try to hold onto that door as tight as they can, fearing they may fall out at any time.

When I look back on all the things that had happened over the decades, my mind almost always fall back onto the imagery of my mother. She is the rock of our family. She is the pillow of her children. She is the voice of my father. She is the one who protects us from ourselves. She is the one who made us all happen, even when each of us strayed.

Yet, what did she get in return? A lifetime of worry, anxiety and sometimes, heartache.

I come from a traditional family with hard ethics and principles. Time and experiences soften our family and had evolved into something more light hearted and comfortable. However even though we have come to this point in our lives as a family, I often wish that I can give more than this to her. Indeed, society has taught me that I am not responsible for them, but bluntly put, to hell with society. My mother deserves more than just the basics of life. She deserves all the love and care that I can muster and more.

When I look at her tired eyes, her hardened hands, the glimpses of grey and white hair and the signs of the creases in her face, I often wish I grew up a better son. I wish I was not a pain in the butt as a child, as a teenager and in my twenty-somethings as I was trying to find myself. Of course, all that I wish for is in hindsight.

What I learned was that it did not matter that my mom understood me, but rather if she accepted me. All those years growing up, I wanted my mom to understand me and that was the problem. She couldn’t. She grew up in a totally different world with a totally different mindset. It was purely selfish of me to want her to understand my way of thinking, my thought processes and the why and how and what. Honestly, very lame of me to even want that, though I can understand as an adult peeking into the tiny world that was mine as a child.

No, what I learned was that all I needed really, was for my mom to accept me for who I was and what I was becoming. In hindsight, if I had known this about myself back then, life would have been a bit easier for my Mah Mee Ya.

Often times, I tell myself that her children and her husband do not deserve her and that she deserves so much more than us. Yet, my Mah Mee Ya has stuck with my father through all those setbacks and heartbreaks and never gave up on my brother and I.

Thanks Mah Mee Ya. You’re the best and if I would be granted another life, I would have you as my Mah Mee Ya then as well, if you would have me as your son. ♥