My Mom

Baani Singh

When my mother screamed me into this world, she did not anticipate for me to live a life of silence. A mother’s love is something that is often taken for granted. It has been 12 years and five days since the last time I saw my biological mother. I thought that a mothers love was eternal and irreplaceable, but she found every way to prove me wrong. But after being abandoned by my “She Who Must Not Be Named” mother as a baby, my grandma decided to raise me herself. Seeing her as a mother figure I grew up calling her Mama, and she made sure that I never felt alone. I’m serious when I say that there is nothing that will ever compare to the sacrifices my grandma, or Mama, made as an immigrant and a mother. I feel as though I owe her my life, working as hard as I can to prove that it was all worth it. However, what hurts the most is that no matter what I do she will always say that I was worth it. She talks about how, after raising three boys, I was her guardian angel. I will always serve her, especially after seeing the way the words “mom” are displayed through her labor sculpted hands, but I question if I am worth the work.

Using her hands she frequently pats my head, whispering, “Kade hasso” (a reminder to smile) smiling down at me as she stares into my eyes, searching for answers to where time has passed. As I watch her smiling eyes wrinkles, I can hear the desire in her tone for living a life divergent to the one serving her demanding husband. Despite this she sounds appeased knowing that I don’t suffer the same future. She praises my uncalloused tender hands and I yearn to explain the history engraved in her palms with great power because I understand that no finer hands could have raised me.

Mama constantly talks about the day I will forget about her, because she has witnessed her own kids become “too occupied” to care for her.

But I have her hair, her nose and her contagious laugh that fills the room, so how could one ever forget about the mother that educated me in everything from the way I comprehend, talk, and see?

You might be confused about why I write about my mom when this is about me, but if you do not understand her, you will not understand why I speak. I am constantly concerned for her, feeling as if it is my duty to care and provide for her. Bringing out her young soul from the chains of marriage means that I must give up my own childhood in return, which is something I will gladly do in a heartbeat, but I must speak of this pain. I want you to recognize that I’m not a “mommy’s girl” but a daughter. I know I do not have all the time in the world, as I turn seventeen she also ages seventeen years, and it feels like I am running out of time for her to watch me accomplish my dreams.

Perhaps I might not possess the scores, or the brain. Yet I am driven by passion, unrestrained and human, and I will utilize it as a guide for my voice. This school brings me closer to my dreams and a career where I can show my Mama I understand a mother’s stress and delight to the greatest extent I know. It is an interdisciplinary, open-minded pursuit I can transfer to my voice that will make our temporary lives permanent by helping me leave an everlasting part of us on earth when it no longer remains. Just as my first word as a child was Mama, my first words as a speaker will also be dedicated to her. Teach me how to speak of her like I am speaking for the first time in years, and I will make everyone listen.

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Baani is a rising senior in high school with a passion for writing and speaking for the unheard. With years of medical experience she hopes to pursue something in either Public Health or International Affairs. She spends most of her time traveling for national tennis tournaments and tutoring little kids.