Last night, I saw her in my dream.
Her smile, gentle like the embun pagi—the morning dew clinging to hibiscus petals—greeted me with such warmth that I could almost feel the softness of her hands cupping my face the way she always did when I was little. She didn’t speak much. She never had to. Her presence alone was enough to calm the storm within me.
I woke up with tears streaming down my face, the ache in my chest familiar yet fresh. It has been years, but the void she left has never stopped echoing. My late mom—ummi tersayang—was not just my mother. She was my first friend, my best friend, and my forever companion. She was the one who truly saw me, who knew my fears before I voiced them and believed in my dreams even when I doubted myself.
She prayed for me more than I ever prayed for myself.
In the moments of triumph, when others applauded, I used to search for her face in the crowd. Now, I lift my gaze to the sky and whisper my gratitude, hoping the wind carries it to Jannah, where she now rests. Ummi, if only you knew how your prayers still shield me, how your faith still lights my way.
But I remember—Allah Maha Mengetahui. He knew that I had to walk this path without you so I could learn the strength you planted in me all those years. Through each dugaan, each test, I hear your voice urging me to be strong, to carry on with resilience and grace. Just like you always did.
Malay culture teaches us about the beauty of patience, of redha, of accepting life’s impermanence with a bowed head and a trusting heart. And so I try to move forward, step by step, knowing this world is but a passage. Nothing here truly belongs to us—not even the people we love most.
Yet some nights, like last night, my heart travels back home. I sit by the window, remembering how you used to cook briyani kambing while the birds chirping outside the balcony. I long for your advice, your laugh, the way your eyes twinkled when I came home after a long day.
But I know… this longing is love. And love, when it is real, never truly dies.
To those who still have their mothers—hug them a little tighter today. Call them. Listen when they talk about the weather or the price of fish at the market. Those moments are not small; they are everything.
And to you, Ummi—may Allah shower your soul with rahmah and place you among the righteous. I carry you with me always, in every step, every breath, every doa whispered under the stars.
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