from the papers…
How a daughter remembers the love of her mother, translated…
My mother when she was younger, had full volume of hair, and great hair type too, and using the older descriptions of “Fluffy as the clouds, and radiating”, is an understatement. Especially right after she’d washed it, she’d blown dry her hair, her hair became fluffy and soft, smelled scented, with that wooden comb of hers, brushing it a couple of times, it’d shined like the silky fabrics.
My mother loved clipping an assortment of bows and clips onto her hair, she’d especially loved the colors of the grasses, snow white, black, as well as the maple’s red, those felts, beads, or cubic zirconia bow hairnets, it’d made my mother’s soft and fluffy head of hair behind her even more beautiful; she’d put on the clothes, along with her pearls, it’d always made me stared, I thought, she was, the MOST beautiful woman I’d ever seen.
As my mother finished getting her hair fluffed, it came my turn. I sat on the small stool before her, watched with concentration, my mother used the pointy tip of the comb, separated my hairline, then, grabbed a handful, used the hair clip to keep it in place. I took after my mother, my hair was dense and black to a shine. If we had enough time in the mornings, my mother would braid my hair well, whether it be French braids, ponytail, or buns, my mother could do. After she was done, I’d, looked at my own reflection excitedly in the mirrors, felt very proud. And, my female classmates were all in awe of me, “Your braids and clothes look beautiful.”, my mother, who had great fashion sense, had made me the envy of my peers.
It’s just, that before work, she’d needed to, fix the breakfasts, and do my hair, my mother became impatient from time to time, and, as she was, brushing my hair down, she’d, pulled a bit hard, and it’d, hurt me. At that time, I’d not known how much pressure from the family she was carrying, just simply thought, that my mother, with a pair of wonderful hands, can screw up too, with uneven ponytails, slanted braids, and sometimes, messy hair style. At the worst, my mother couldn’t find the time to brush my hair, and I can only, head to school, with my messy head of hair; my good friend, Jing-Jing loved holding my braids and playing with it, saw how rare it was, for me, to come to school without my hair done, she’d come and taken my hand and asked, “Did you, anger your mom?”
an assortment of styles, photo from online…
Now, recalling how much duress my mother had been under, she’d worked on my hair almost every single day, I’d felt that I was, more than blessed.
With the coming of age, my mother’s hair was, no longer black like coal, she’d cut her long hair short, and, she’s losing more and more hair too, those shiny decorations she’d put on her hair, no more. But, one day when I was cleaning up the house, I’d found, that strand of silvery gray on her comb, I’d felt that surge of warmth, passing through my heart.
It’s as if, I saw butterflies, dancing around, stopping at the ends of her hair.
So, this, is the time of your childhood that you’d, cherished the most, because your mom took so much time and care, to braid your hair, and, it’d become, a prominent memory, because it’d showed how much she cared for and loved you.