Pangs of the past
It's funny, the things you remember. One morning in church, years ago. I don't even know how old I was at the time. Probably somewhere in my younger teens. I was beside Mom, and she was talking to one of the ladies in church. This lady had five daughters. One of them was my age.
"Yes, I have five girls, five lovely flowers," she said, smiling in the sweetest way. I still see her smile in my mind's eye.
I remember feeling the pang. Remember wondering if her daughters knew how wonderfully blessed they were to have such a mother. I knew Mom would never think of referring to me as a "flower". It was probably the last adjective she'd think of if she were asked to describe me.
I went through a period in my teens when I questioned whether my parents loved me. They are typical Asian parents, you see. They never said "I love you". They never said, "You can do it." They never even said "Good job", at least not that I can remember. They didn't hug. It took me the longest time to realise that they love me through the things that they do -- by putting food on the table, keeping a roof over our heads, fixing the little things that give out around the house, providing for my education, nagging me to study, making sure I have breakfast before going off to school at 7am in the morning.
I still have the letters to God where I told Him that my parents didn't actually want ME, they wanted someone the complete and total opposite of me. Coz it seemed like they were always trying to change me. And nothing I did ever seemed right or good enough.
Maybe, I told Him, I shouldn't have been born. I knew it wasn't right to wish to die. So I wished I hadn't been born instead. And then I thought, what if I were to die tomorrow? Would Mom & Dad miss me? Would they be sorry and wish they had done things differently? Would anybody miss me? What would they say about me if I were gone?
The angst-filled teen years.
I told God, I know I am special, but why is it I don't FEEL special?
I still have the same pangs now, although less often. I still have moments when grave doubts surface. Doubts that I'm special, precious, beyond price. I'm older, and seldom wish for the unattainable anymore. I have a better relationship with both my parents. I know they love me. I don't long for them to say it. I don't expect them to.
But every time I hear a parent speaking lovingly and proudly of a child, every time I read a parent writing of a child with deep affection and gratefulness to God, my heart quivers.