I haven’t thought about my Ma for a long time. There I am, sitting on the bench in the gym, drying my feet after shower and staring blankly in front of me. Someone left a water bottle and lotion behind. The lotion tube looks familiar and then I remember.
One time Ma and I were in a pharmacy. Why and which one I don’t remember. But a salesgirl targeted my Ma and sold her a moisturiser that can reduce black spots or make her skin better. I don’t even remember the details. But I remember that I thought Ma is already so old and why this matters. It’s a side of my Ma that I seldom see. My Ma thinking of herself and not her children. My Ma buying something for herself to make herself happy.
And I wanted to cry at the memory because I miss her. And so I did. It’s been four years now, and I miss you, Ma. The other day I have forgotten how I used to greet you and I sounded it out but it felt unfamiliar.
The sadness, the missing. It goes away but it comes back and catches you off guard.
