irresistably Mom

I have a Mom who is unbeatable, and irresistably winning.

We spent this afternoon together. Two days ago was her birthday, but I couldn't go out to celebrate with her. So today was our date. However, it was a day all about me and not about her. Go figure. Yet she'd never complain about it. Knowing her, the notion of a self-oriented day would never even have crossed her mind. Sculpting out a day just for herself is as far-fetched an idea as riding a camel to Timbuktu, even if she knew Timbuktu was a real city in Mali. That's my Mom. She's just happy being with her family, and she simply doesn't think about herself before others.

So Mom and Raj came all the way into Shatin to pick me up, and we chatted up a storm in the car while Raj took us safely and smoothly to Tsim Sha Tsui. She recounted her birthday Thursday for me, because I had remarked how I never finished saying happy birthday to her, since our conversation was interrupted by another phone call.

She sure had a busy day. She described her delight in babysitting my little nephew, and glowed with pride when relaying how Davis was a brave and enthusiastic little student at the school's Christmas party. She told me of her lunch with someone or other. Her afternoon started with a last-minute request for her presence at home, to entertain a long-lost cousin who decided to visit my grandma that day. She forewent her hairdresser's appointment, her treat for herself on her birthday. She had tea with this stranger-relative, then took him touring around Hong Kong.

She did a bunch of other things, ran a bunch of other errands, and went home a little behind schedule. Then she was in a tizzy rushing for the evening dinner party, while finishing up her last babysitting duties. "And of course, I was late. And you know Dad. He loves being on time. So on the way over to our friends, there was some nagging... And that's what happened on my birthday!" She laughed and I had to laugh with her, "Yeah," I added, " It wouldn't have been a real birthday without those last few nags, eh?" And we both laughed again. Slip-slidin' along. Mom's amazing. She could laugh at all sorts of things, and wouldn't take any credit for all the behind the scenes work, and all the work in keeping the family together.

We arrived at TST, and did some girly things. It's so much fun hanging out with Mom. We went shopping. This is Mom at her best--without fail and as always, she sided with the salesman to rip me off. We were standing side by side, checking out an item. And of course, being in a tourist area, the salesman was on the prowl to pounce on us and eat us up. What I didn't expect, though I should've, was how, mentally, if not physically, Mom had already merrily skipped over to the salesman's side. They were best buddies within a minute.

"Oh really? Wow! This product has that function? And you're ONLY selling it for this much? Wow! What a bargain!" She was a ball of excitement. She was already sold on the no name brand item. All my eye-winking and nudging and below-my-breath English could not recapture her attention, which was purely and irrevocably mesmerized by the honey-sweet drone of the salesman. "Wow. How fantastic! Perhaps we should buy two of them, eh, Melissa?" My eyes grew bigger: stop it! You're totally trapped! This is a major rip-off! To no avail, my valiant effort. So, instead of bargaining with the salesman, I ended up bargaining with Mom, who was supported every step of the way by the nodding approval of the salesman.

No shopping, no comparing prices. "Aiyaah, you have to let him earn something! How can you be so mean and push the price so low! He has to pay rent you know!" Oh Mom. Your heart is so big and naive--who would REALLY sell something below cost?!? Oie. So I bought one quickly, buckling under the impending threat of Mom fishing out money for TWO of the items. Mom was happy, the salesman was happy, and yeah, me too, I was happy.

Yeah, I was happy, and we laughed as we bustled across the street. It's never dull going shopping with Mom. And we always end up with something, in this, her kind of charity work.

Then we went for coffee. Mom read out all my Chinese handouts for me while I furiously scribbled the English translation on the side. She had a Spanish coffee, and I a latte. We were there for more than an hour. She would flip open the Bible to check on some points, and verify others. Sometimes, she'd be so engrossed by the passage she would continue reading and reading unhurriedly, while my pen perched poised in my hand, puzzled at the prolonged pause. Sometimes, she would make comments on the handout notes, and exclaim, "Oh, of course!" or "So that's what people think..."

It was already past 6 when we were finally done. She needed to be home by 7 for a dinner party. Again, no hairdresser's time, because she wanted to spend time with me, doing all my stuff, and helping me pass my exam this coming week. And before I hopped off to ride the KCR back to the dorm, she even gave me a bag of fruits that she had actually prepared for my brother, waving me off saying, "There's lots more at home. Don't worry, just take it!" The bag sat on my lap while the train jostled me back to Shatin; the fresh fragrance of a golden guava rose up and tickled my nose. I looked down-- there were two of them! What a treat! And there were apples and mandarins too, a few bell-shaped pears and one purple grape.

Giving, giving, giving, and always with joy and easy laughter. She'll likely be late arriving at home. And Dad, not knowing the reason, and perhaps out of habit, might make a comment or two about tardiness. And she'll give him a brilliant smile back, or a winsome laugh, which will likely melt his heart once again...a heart which, she reiterated while travelling in the car today, was SO SO good, and which was the reason she chose Dad out of all the charming pursuers some 41 years ago.

What a Mom I have. Irresistably amazing Mom. Happy Birthday, Mom! You grow more youthful with each passing year.

friendly time

The days trickle by incessantly, and before you can hold the drop in your hand as a drop, it splatters and wets all the fingers and then dries up. Colourful days of biking to Tai Mei Tuk, of coasting through Foggy Mountain, of sipping tea with friends, digging for treasures in the Bible, of morning breezes carrying our shouts of "Praise the Lord, O my soul!", of encouraging pats on the back, of knowing each other as unbelievable creatures designed by God...drops of 24 hours splashing into the hands of life. They mesh, they mingle, they glisten amorphously, they moisten. I wish I could capture each moment, and its unique joy, and hang it up for display. But all the walls in the world would be insufficient hanging space.

I have three research papers to research and write up in 12 days, and one book review, and 4 to 5 exams. I calculated the time, I won't have enough time, even though each minute seems pregnant with possibilities. I know the 20th will come soon enough, irrespective of my success in fulfilling my course requirements. It will come. And it will be a good 24 hours, full of happy, spattery drops. And a time will come when I will have completed all my assignments. It will come, though maybe later than the 20th. And that would be good too. At that time, I would've have accumulated drops of satisfaction and knowledge to complement my drops of enriching fellowship. They will be drops of joyful discovery, fun learning and rewarding thinking.

How wonderful, the steady trickling of time. How reliable, the trickling of time. It passes, never to be experienced again; yet it keeps passing, and it will come to pass. What a funny thing, the trickling of time. It contains our memories, and gives substance presently to future aspirations. What a soothing thing, the trickling of time. Anticipated fears are stripped of apprehension when they drop helplessly into the present. We remain, even when the fears have vanished. We remain, even when trials get taken drop by drop into the past.

Time is a friendly thing afterall, drop after drop. Even the bitter drops shall be sweetened in the cupped Hands of our living God, Who holds all the drops, and spills nothing.