Resul buyurdu;

Cennet analarin ayaklari altinda

Senin hayalin aklimda,

ruhumda, ruyalarimda

-Sami Yusuf-

The Messenger (pbuh) said:

"Paradise is under the mother's feet"

Your image is in my heart, my soul, and my dream

A man came to the Prophet and said, ‘O Messenger of God! Who among the people is the most worthy of my good companionship?

The Prophet said: Your mother.

The man said, ‘Then who?'

The Prophet said: Then your mother.

The man further asked, ‘Then who?'

The Prophet said: Then your mother.

The man asked again, ‘Then who?'

The Prophet said: Then your father. (Bukhari, Muslim).

There was a time of my life when I used to cry every single night before I fell asleep. And my eyes was looked swollen in the next morning, yet neither my family nor my friends asked why. The cry before sleep happened continuously for about a month. That was the hardest moment which I had to cope by myself. I remember, my mother was the only reason that made me cry. I couldn't forget the struggle she had done for her family. She is a hard-working lady, and also a career woman. But she is capable to manage both work and family very well. Women are supposed to take care her family and put their concern to it rather than their office job. My mother however, doesn't think that such gender labeling at job will confine her productivity only at home. She wants more, and deserves more from the world.

If I may describe how my mother looks like, simple, she is beautiful. But I rarely ever say this bluntly to her cause she would get cocky (that's her bad side :P). My grandma once told me that my mother had many suitors, among them were a handsome doctor and a banker (amazingly, she picked my dad lol and he's not one of them). She is always looked young plus with her fair complexion and sharp nose, though her hair is running low and whitish. Her height is more than the average height of Indonesian women, that's why she is recognized by her office mates (include front office securities) as the "Tall Lady". My mum always dressed in style (she has to because she is a career lady) and wraps her head with hijaab properly. Not like me, the anti-style who loves to appear like a "yokel" hehehe.

Being persistent has been taught to her since she was young. She was about six years old when her parents were divorced and she stayed with her mother (my grandma) and her three siblings. They lived in a small old house with a golden retriever kind of dog named "Brence" (it was my grandma's pet. She could smell my grandma within 200 meters from home then barked as if she said "ha your momma's on the way home, so stop playing around and clean yourself before she scolds you!"). After arrived from school, my mum and her siblings made a stand to sell cold lemonades and hand made cookies, while my grandma worked at market as a merchant.

My grandma raised her children as a tough person, especially to my mother as the firstborn. She was often being told to behave well cause she would be the role model for her siblings. And it came to a moment when my mother's toughness was tested. In 2000 her youngest and closest sibling, her sister, and also my closest auntie passed away due to brain cancer. Her name was Sofia Akmalia and we called her "Bunda/Mama Sofia" (Mother Sofia) but I and my sister had a special nickname for her, "Bunda Mama" (Lady Mama, not Lady Gaga). It was such a devastating event, considering that my auntie was very dear to my mum. She was my mother's only sister.

Again and again my mother has to face the toughness in life. Not only she must support her mother's health fund and struggle for justice upon his brother against unfair law. She must keep maintaining her marriage in good condition, deal with marital and children problems, and so forth. Sometimes everything gets too much and she can't help herself. She "explodes" like a mine, something triggers the mine and it explodes.

And, at this very night, I'm crying so bad then suddenly remember the time when I used to cry until I slept. I have an odd feeling which I can't explain since last Friday and the tears burst tonight. Well I guess tears explain better about what I feel. I just get distressed, that's all, and I need to cry to let it go. I think I'm crying about something unimportant. My life would not be as tough as my mother. Yes, I am the firstborn and I have siblings who expect me as their role model. But I am more lucky than my mum. I was born and raised in a family with decent economical ability. I go to a prestigious college in my country. I don't have to sell lemonade or work part time to pay my tuition. Plus, I am not a daughter from a broken family alhamdulillah. Everything is in their good condition.

My mother kept a promise long time ago. That after she is married she won't let her children suffering like her, that her children dressed well and well-educated, her family will own a decent and spacious house, her husband could own a decent car, will take her whole family for pilgrimage (hajj), and last but not least, she want her daughters marry a decent man. No more same mistake.

As a firstborn, I do look up to my mother as an example because we are almost at the same situation. I have to be tough, and tougher than her. I won't please anyone before I please Allah, my mother, and my family. Although we have different perspective in some matters, I guess it doesn't make significant difference. Conclusion, I admit that I am PROUD to have her as my mother (though I never say it bluntly).

You are worthy to be adored, Mama. As Sheikh Hamdan Prince of Dubai praises his mother in one of his poems . . . .

~ To my mother ~

For all its vast ocean, Dubai seems small

Because its sun has disappeared

Weep, Dubai`s deserts and trees

And the birds have lost their will to sing

And Zabeel, its palace darkened

Only the echo replies

And stars seek their full moon

Which will illuminate the dark black night

Oh candle and light of our house

Oh mother, with yearning , I am burning

If my verses are not enough

My sighs show my yearning

She lends her fragrance to the breeze

Scented flowers are green with envy

The heart beats with with her memory

The vision of her in my eye sleeps

My Allah bestow long life upon her

To stay with us so long

And bring her soon from her travels

By His will she will return in good health

Anne, seni sevdiğimi biliyorsun :) :)

For every wonderful mother (and amazing grandmother) in the world, and those who will become a mother in the future.

♥ BEN ANNEM SENI SEVIYORUM ♥

:) I LOVE YOU MOTHER :)