http://www.thejakartapost.com/news/2012/11/19/imo-view-piggy-bank-a-dream.html
The memorable moment I treasure most is when I saw the look in my mother’s eyes upon her return from the holy land, Mecca. Her eyes beamed with joy, and her smile radiated warmth, a sunray through the clouds. She hugged me close, kissed my cheeks, and wrapped me in her affectionate embrace. Tears gently trickled down her face. She wiped them off, and softly said “These are happy tears. My dream came true at last.”
I looked at her tenderly and struggled with my tears, till the agony of unspoken words burst my essence and I trembled. “We miss you dearly.” I smiled. “The piggy bank has served its duty well.” Hearing this, my mother beamed with smile. We laughed at our secret smile and walked to the door.
I remember since I was a kid my mother has always kept ‘celengan’ or the clay-made piggy bank. One day, as my mother put small money in it, I asked “Mum, why do you put money in there?” She ruffled my cropped short hair, and smiled. “Well, it is for my dream.” I asked further, “What is your dream?” My mother looked deeply at my eyes with such profundity and replied whimsically “Going to Holy Land!” Henceforth, my mother always worked so hard and saved small portion of her money whenever she could.
She taught me how important it was to save. We didn’t always have the money to buy things, or we didn’t always know our spending needs in the future. That’s why we have our savings. Money doesn’t grow in trees, she would tell me. We have to work hard to earn it. Handle money with respect, never squander it.
Having three children with an elementary school teacher as the sole breadwinner, we have led a hand-to-mouth life. It was a decision by necessity when my mother finally decided to help. She worked nail to toe to ensure her children finishing their education for better future. Often, I would wake up in the middle of the night to find her working her stuff she was selling. She sold traditional home appliances, cooking herbs, children toys to chicken meat depending on the market situation. Selling in the streets was about the only option available due to her limited education. For this reason, she never had the luxury to sit by her children, helping them study or just tell stories because by the time she got home, she had to do her housework chores before collapsing to bed.
On so many occasions, my mother with all her heart postponed her own dream for her family. When my siblings and I finished school and enrolled for college, she emptied her savings for us. She broke her ‘celengan’ again when my father decided to continue his study. She even encouraged my father to go for Hajj when we had enough money.
At last, after decades of dreaming, my mother finally set foot on Mecca in Saudi Arabia along with more than two millions other pilgrims this year. Her relentless hard work paid off. Nevertheless, such hard work has also taken its toll on her health. Now at 64, my mother looked physically frail, but mentally competent. Her face was lined with wrinkles and her once long raven black hair faded to silvery gray.
She might be simple and uneducated, but her ways never stop to amaze us. And when the moment came, it was extraordinary. The feeling of seeing such serenity and joy in my mother’s face was priceless. She is the hero in my life.
The memorable moment I treasure most is when I saw the look in my mother’s eyes upon her return from the holy land, Mecca. Her eyes beamed with joy, and her smile radiated warmth, a sunray through the clouds. She hugged me close, kissed my cheeks, and wrapped me in her affectionate embrace. Tears gently trickled down her face. She wiped them off, and softly said “These are happy tears. My dream came true at last.”
I looked at her tenderly and struggled with my tears, till the agony of unspoken words burst my essence and I trembled. “We miss you dearly.” I smiled. “The piggy bank has served its duty well.” Hearing this, my mother beamed with smile. We laughed at our secret smile and walked to the door.
I remember since I was a kid my mother has always kept ‘celengan’ or the clay-made piggy bank. One day, as my mother put small money in it, I asked “Mum, why do you put money in there?” She ruffled my cropped short hair, and smiled. “Well, it is for my dream.” I asked further, “What is your dream?” My mother looked deeply at my eyes with such profundity and replied whimsically “Going to Holy Land!” Henceforth, my mother always worked so hard and saved small portion of her money whenever she could.
She taught me how important it was to save. We didn’t always have the money to buy things, or we didn’t always know our spending needs in the future. That’s why we have our savings. Money doesn’t grow in trees, she would tell me. We have to work hard to earn it. Handle money with respect, never squander it.
Having three children with an elementary school teacher as the sole breadwinner, we have led a hand-to-mouth life. It was a decision by necessity when my mother finally decided to help. She worked nail to toe to ensure her children finishing their education for better future. Often, I would wake up in the middle of the night to find her working her stuff she was selling. She sold traditional home appliances, cooking herbs, children toys to chicken meat depending on the market situation. Selling in the streets was about the only option available due to her limited education. For this reason, she never had the luxury to sit by her children, helping them study or just tell stories because by the time she got home, she had to do her housework chores before collapsing to bed.
On so many occasions, my mother with all her heart postponed her own dream for her family. When my siblings and I finished school and enrolled for college, she emptied her savings for us. She broke her ‘celengan’ again when my father decided to continue his study. She even encouraged my father to go for Hajj when we had enough money.
At last, after decades of dreaming, my mother finally set foot on Mecca in Saudi Arabia along with more than two millions other pilgrims this year. Her relentless hard work paid off. Nevertheless, such hard work has also taken its toll on her health. Now at 64, my mother looked physically frail, but mentally competent. Her face was lined with wrinkles and her once long raven black hair faded to silvery gray.
She might be simple and uneducated, but her ways never stop to amaze us. And when the moment came, it was extraordinary. The feeling of seeing such serenity and joy in my mother’s face was priceless. She is the hero in my life.
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