Mummy

The meaning behind this story can also be applied to your dad. Or even your grandparents. Actually, any family member who really loves you and who you were once close to but left behind as you became a teenager. I think it's really sad when that happens... 

"I love you mummy."
"I love you too. Sweet dreams."
And she stays there, sitting at the edge of the pink bed (eyes tired, work undone) for an hour just to watch her daughter fall asleep and to act as comfort for the dear girl afraid of the monsters lurking in the dark.

"What about the presentation you've been working on?"
"It's her first day of school. Sorry."
And on that day, she's enthusiastically snapping pictures of her daughter clad in freshly-pressed uniform while the media snap pictures of a proud guy taking credit for her year's work.

"Oh! The movie's out!"
"Want me to take you?"
And it hurts when she hears that her group of friends had already made plans. She hides the two premiere tickets she bought because she knows what her daughter would rather do that Sunday. Two days later, she watches the movie alone.

"Oh look! It's that guy you like."
"Please, mum. Just let go of my hand already and pretend you don't know me."
She lets go, somewhat shocked and her daughter storms off, making sure she walks at least 5 metres away from her. Nowadays, that's the minimum distance between them. And between their hearts.

"No. You're not going to the party, it's too expensive."
"I hate you! Why are you always like that?"
She closes her eyes as the bedroom door is slammed shut. It's not like she had money. (She stares at the letter from her boss. Too many leaves taken. And it's not like she could adjust the timings of her daughter's school activities either. Fired. )

"Do you need help?"
"Just freaking leave me alone!"
She longs for the days when her company was wanted, needed and begged for. When the girl would cry just to get her attention. When she would hug her after school. When she would wish her "good night" before falling asleep instead of making her wait fruitlessly in the other room, wondering when her daughter would burst in to do so.

"Uh. I got you a card."
"Thank you."
No cake. No present. Just a flimsy piece of paper with a few scribbled words and another forgotten birthday. But it was better than nothing. Or at least that's what she tells herself as she pulls out a smile and hugs her grimacing daughter who attempts not to squirm.

 "Stop it!"
 "You don't control my life!"
The horrible fights. The exhausting nights. She wishes they would just end. What happened to that sweet little girl?

"We might have to move."
"What? Why are you always ruining my life?"
Why are you always blaming things on me?

"I'm moving out to John's place."
"Oh."
That's all she can say. She knows her daughter's grown up now but it just doesn't seem fair. She never got to let that princess-tiara girl go. Instead, her tiny daughter was forced out of her grip. Snatched away just too fast by reality.

"When was the last time she visited you?"
"I don't know."
One old lady in one lonely old house. She's forgotten what laughter sounds like. Ironic considering how twenty years ago, high-pitched childish laughter was all that had ever echoed through the house.

"Your mother loved you."
"I loved her too. Just forgot to show it."
The graveyard is cold. So cold.

This is rather simple. Simple story, simple language. But I hope the intention is clear.
How can you not be ashamed for doing all this to your parents?