Ceritera Syawalynn Zain

“I HATE YOU, MOM!”

Those four words I’d uttered to my mom. It was the first time. For the first time, I really cry my heart out and expressed myself out loud. It has been a long time since I hold the feelings and finally, it came out. I did not feel bad. But I did cry. Not because I said such things to my Mom but because I was frustrated and disappointed with her. I was so angry. For me to utter those four words with an exclamation mark at the end, it took me few scenes in life.

***

I do have a home-I mean, so called home. A very small hut somewhere in an isolated village. Since I was born, I only live with my mom. I don’t even know who my dad is. I only know his name and that is only because it is a part of my name. Suci binti Abdullah. That’s me. A very simple name, Suci. And Abdullah? That’s my dad’s name. I guess. Every time I ask about my dad, my mom will avoid the question and change the topic. Reluctant to answer. She is probably too sad to talk about it but I have rights to know about my dad. If he’s dead, I should know where he’s buried. There. I just told you the first reason to why I hate my mom, the first reason of those four words I said. She acts like my dad is real bad person. Well, he probably is but at least she should tell me something. It’s as if she’s avoiding the truth, the real life she faced. 16 years of living and I still don’t know who the hell is my dad. That one night, I asked my mom the same question I’ve been asking her but that time, it differs a bit,

“Mom, if you tell me only one detail about dad I promise I won’t utter the word dad anymore. Please, tell me. Who’s my dad? Where is he now? What he does for a living? Is he dead?”

My mom took a look into my eyes deeply. It’s as if she was stabbing me in the eyes with her stare. Trying to penetrate my mind but I didn’t allow her.

“Suci, we’ve talked about this. Never ask about your dad again. Never.”

“But I deserve to know at least more than his name. Mom, please. I got jealous everyday when I see my friends and their dads at school. I want to kiss my dad’s hand too before I enter the hell masked in school building every morning.”

“Suci! That’s not a nice thing to say. It’s the place where it gives you knowledge. Now go and complete your homework or do revision or something.”

“But, Mom…”

“STOP IT, SUCI! Now go to your room!”

“Why are you so mad when all I did was asking about my dad?”

“SHUT UP, SUCI!!”

She stood up and went to her room which is only next to my room. She slammed the door. I was still puzzled about dad. I went into my room and lay on bed, still trying to figure out who is dad. I heard someone’s crying. It’s Mom for sure. I wondered why. I am the one who should be sobbing. I mean, she shouted at me for no reason. Ugh! I just went to sleep that night. Mom’s sobs became my lullaby.

That’s the first scene. Next scene, the most annoying one.

***

“Mom, I wanna hang out with friends. I need money.”

“With who? What ‘ll you do? Where are you going?”

“That doesn’t matter. Now give me some money.”

“No.”

“Say what?”

“I said no. Stay at home. Revise your studies or something…”

“Give me a break! Mom, I wanna spend some time with my friends. You can’t simply say no!”

“I said no and that’s it!”

“WHAT THE FFFF….”

“Mind your language!”

And that’s how it always ended. I never win. I have to stay at home and bored to death. That was not the first and the last time. I argued with her quite a lot on that matter. I tried to sneak out sometimes but always failed. Damn it. I always want to see the other side of the world that I’ve never seen before. All I’ve seen are trees and old houses. And oh, that damn school.

“The other side of the world that you wish to see is not as good, as beautiful as you thought”

That’s what she told me. She said it could bring me harm. I puffed on that statement like, what kind of harm?

Moving on to the next scene that I wish never happen in my life.

***

16 years of living and finally, I had the chance to feel some love from a guy- a boyfriend. Since I was seeking for a father’s love which seems to be impossible to be found, I seek for a guy who can shower me with his love and I found one. Aidil, that’s his name. Since I know Aidil, I’m not jealous with my other friends who kiss their dad’s hand before entering school as I  can hold to my boyfriend’s hand when I entered the school gate. I kept this from Mom. I  don’t want to let her know until one day when Aidil offered me a ride.

“Hop on. I’ll send you home. Safely.”

He winked and I melted and without any thought I said yes. I hold on to his waist so that I won’t fall over. I already felt safe at that moment.

And so I had a ride from school to my house with my best boy. The moment we reached home, Mom was at the front door. Her eyebrows were about to meet at the middle of her forehead and her eyes were targeting on my hands which were still on Aidil’s waist. I thanked Aidil before I walked to Mom. She gave Aidil a death look, as if she was going to cut Aidil into pieces and eat him.

“Who’s that?” she asked with an angry tone.

“Aidil.”

“Who’s Aidil?”

“My boyfriend. Look, Mom. You always blocked my way in everything so please not this one. I’m matured enough to have a boy in my life and I know he’s the best…”

“The best?!! You’re only 16! And he let you touched him!”

“Mom…”

Her face gone red. I’ve never seen her that mad before. Without further thoughts, she dragged my hand harshly. I thought my arm was about to separate from my body. She threw me on the floor in my room. I was speechless. And hurt. Scared, too. She got out and I thought everything has ended but no. she came back in with a cane in her hand. I never know we have that in our house and this is not the first time I see a cane. I received a lot in school and I am pretty sure of the purpose of the cane’s invention. She looked as if she’s reluctant to do it but she did it anyway. She caned me so hard but she did not say a word. She was crying. I was crying too, for help. I complained that it’s hurt and obviously I was bleeding. She keep on caning me, with anger and hatred, I thought. I lost count, more than 20 times I guess. I thought I could flood the whole village with my tears. She ignored my complaints, my “ouch”, my tears, and I asked her a few times to stop it. I shouted on top of my lungs “MOM STOP IT YOU’RE HURTING ME!” and she finally stopped. But I still suffer of the pain. Blood. I saw blood on my skin. Again, I shouted the four words,

“I HATE YOU, MOM!”

She left the room, crying hard. Why the hell she cried so hard? I’m the one bleeding. I was hurt and tired till I fall asleep for the whole evening.

When I woke up, the blood has gone. Mom? Feeling guilty, huh? I stepped out of my room and headed towards kitchen. I was hungry and thirsty. As I shuffled to the kitchen, I heard Mom was talking to someone. I took a peek behind a wall. It was grandma. She lives in another district but she paid us a visit sometimes. We never went to her house. I never liked her either. She’s just like Mom. I eavesdropped their conversation and I heard Mom said between her sobs. God just why on earth she always cry?

“It hurts me to hurt her that way but it’s the only thing I could think of that moment to punish and teach her a lesson. I was so mad she touched the God knows who the hell that boy is. For sure, he’s no good for her. And I was scared too. What if she ended up like me?”

Like her? Like what? Old and miserable? Pffft.

“She’ll get the message, I’m sure. But just don’t be that harsh. She bleeds. Does she know about…umm.. your past?”

“No she doesn’t know. I won’t let her. I never know how to be a good mother. It’s not easy to raise her up alone. It’s okay if I’m not the best person for her but all I want in this world is her happiness, for her to be a good person with a bright future. I just want to protect her, guard her from any harm in the world. She’s my life. I live for her. She’s the best thing I could ever have although I wasn’t ready when I carried her in my womb.”

Wow. I’m a troubled child yet she still loves me that much? Seriously, Mom?

“She always ask about her dad. What can  I answer, Ma? What can I answer when she asked what’s her father’s job? I can’t answer RAPIST!”

Rapist? What? Did I misheard? Damn, she’s crying super hard now.

“I don’t wanna lie to her. I can’t tell her I got her because I was raped. I can’t tell her I just can’t admit to her that I was about to abort her when I knew I was pregnant of her. I can’t tell her I was about to throw her away the day she was born. All I know now is I did the right thing. I see my soul in her. I see my spirit when I see her. I gain my strength back when I look at her face. She does remind me of the tragedy but all I can see in her is purity and innocence. She gives me strength to forget about the painful incident. Everytime I look at her I could have be reminded of how hurt I was beaten up and my shirt got torn and left alone naked in an abandoned place, but no. Instead, she gives me my life back. She makes me stronger and I don’t know how it works. She’s a daughter of mine and I love her.”

Tears started to roll down my cheeks like Niagara Falls when I heard that. I fell on my knees. Surprised. I can’t accept that. That can’t be true. That moment, I started to think of how idiot and ungrateful I am, as a daughter who’s taken care very well by a rape victim. For my sake, she keeps me and loves me. If it was me, I won’t even take a glance at the baby but she didn’t. She’s been living with the baby that she got from a rapist for 16 years.  I wonder how much pain she’s been through. No wonder we live in an isolated area, she was humiliated back then when she got me. She has to move out and far away from where she came from. Even grandma couldn’t help her at that time. She is one strong lady. She struggled alone to give me a good life. She carried me nine months in her womb, she battled between life and death when she delivered me, she probably has spent thousands of ringgits just to supply me with good food, clothes and a comfortable shelter yet not even once I thanked her and she still loves me. I said that I hate her but still she loves me more than I could ever imagine. She never complains, not even once. What a great person Allah has gifted me.

I wiped my tears and came out from behind the wall. Mom’s face was concerned and worried as she saw my sad face. I walked slowly towards her.

“Why are you sad? Does it still hurt? I’m sorry I didn’t mean to hurt you. Come, sit. I’m sure you’re hungry.”

Even when I said I hate her with all my heart, even I caused her so much pain and trouble, she still treats me like this? Is she even a human? She’s an angel. I stood still and speechless.

“What’s wrong, dear?”

And she still calls me dear. I couldn’t hold it anymore. Here comes the tears again. I looked her in the eyes and I can see all sacrifices that she did for me and all the hardships she went through in raising me up until now. I see strength.

“I love you, Mom.”

I hugged her tightly that even me couldn’t breathe. I said sorry few times for what I have done and apologise for being ungrateful and suffocated her with those dad questions.

“Did you hear…?

“Yes, Mom. Everything. I’m sorry I don’t know.”

“It’s okay, my love. It’s not your fault. You did nothing wrong.

“I was so arrogant to you, I mistreat you, I was so ungrateful. I’m an idiot, a fool. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. You’re still young.”

“I’m sorry. Please forgive me, Mom.”

“Okay, okay. If you are really that sorry then do me a favour.”

I unwrapped my arms around her. She wiped away the tears on my cheeks and stared into my eyes with love. I asked her what favour should I do. She curved a smile.

“Repeat those four words again.”

“I love you, Mom.”

She smiled with tears in her eyes.

“Those simple four words can remove my thousands of pain from my entire life.”

-THE END-

Notakaki: What I want to emphasize in this short story is to appreciate your mom no matter how harsh or how strict your mom is. You must realise that she did all that, all the "No"s she gives to us is for our own good. She might not understand us, how much we want enjoy our youth time, but one thing for sure, she knows what is the best for us and all she wants is to protect us from any bad, harm, danger that could ever happened to us. Appreciate your mom, be thankful to Allah as He gives us the best gift in the whole world that nothing can replace, A MOTHER.

Mom is love, Mom is life, Mom is home.