I miss my mother. As I lie here, on my single college dorm bed, I think about her. About how she posted a story on instagram of her having cheese naan at most probably the mamak we frequent. And how immediately after i replied saying how jealous I was at that plate of buttery goodness, she posted a picture of me at age 8, a flower girl at her eldest daughter's wedding. She said the picture just popped up on her Facebook memory timeline, but I like to think that she was thinking of me.
Shortly after procrastinating for the (I don't keep track anymore)th time, I stumbled across a post by Ustaz Ebit Lew. My idol. The thing I like the most about him is his softness. He is a guy of broad build, but as soon as he opens his mouth and preaches about Allah's love, even the toughest of sailors give in. But what got me unsurprisingly this day was a post about his late mother Allahyarhamha. It was a short video of him at the kubur, squatting down and reciting prayers off a delicate prayer book. His first sentence in the caption reads. "Missing my mother." Ustaz Ebit Lew often writes long paragraphs of his captions, something I struggle in doing. He continues down his path of memory lane and reminisces the times where as a kid, he would run back to his mother after being taunted for spreading dakwah. He misses his mother's hugs, his mother's kisses, and how his mother would not stop kissing him. He talked about the time when his mother was sick. How when he hugged his mother but she didn't hug him back, and how he held on and squeezed his mother's hand but she didn't squeeze him back.
It was at this point where my bed was practically a swimming pool. I let out an internal scream of longing and misery. Everybody has their own weaknesses. But mine is mainly parental love, and for this time, motherly love. (unfinished)
Shortly after procrastinating for the (I don't keep track anymore)th time, I stumbled across a post by Ustaz Ebit Lew. My idol. The thing I like the most about him is his softness. He is a guy of broad build, but as soon as he opens his mouth and preaches about Allah's love, even the toughest of sailors give in. But what got me unsurprisingly this day was a post about his late mother Allahyarhamha. It was a short video of him at the kubur, squatting down and reciting prayers off a delicate prayer book. His first sentence in the caption reads. "Missing my mother." Ustaz Ebit Lew often writes long paragraphs of his captions, something I struggle in doing. He continues down his path of memory lane and reminisces the times where as a kid, he would run back to his mother after being taunted for spreading dakwah. He misses his mother's hugs, his mother's kisses, and how his mother would not stop kissing him. He talked about the time when his mother was sick. How when he hugged his mother but she didn't hug him back, and how he held on and squeezed his mother's hand but she didn't squeeze him back.
It was at this point where my bed was practically a swimming pool. I let out an internal scream of longing and misery. Everybody has their own weaknesses. But mine is mainly parental love, and for this time, motherly love. (unfinished)
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