Under the Same Sky, Watching Football with Ummi

It was a quiet evening in my small apartment abroad when I tuned in to watch my favorite football team play. The match was intense, the crowd roaring through the screen, but my heart was somewhere else. As the players danced across the pitch, a memory crept in—soft, vivid, and aching. I was suddenly back in our modest home in Penang, Malaysia, sitting cross-legged on the floor, eyes glued to the tele. And right behind me on a couch, as always, was Ummi.

She wasn’t a football fan. At least, I didn’t think she was. But almost every time I watched a game, no matter how late it was—European matches often aired past midnight in Malaysia—she would quietly join me. Sometimes with a mug of warm Milo, sometimes just with her gentle presence. I never questioned it. I was too young to understand the depth of her love, the quiet ways she chose to be close to me.

Now, years later, living oceans away, I finally see it. She didn’t care about the score or the players. She cared about me. Watching football was her way of stepping into my world, of saying, “I’m here with you,” without needing words. It was her way of spending time, of making sure I never felt alone—even in the silence of a late-night match.

The last time I saw her was the day I left Malaysia. She kissed my face, her hands lingering on my cheeks as if trying to memorize the feel of me. I brushed it off then, eager to chase dreams, to build a career, to earn a living in a foreign land. But now, that kiss feels like a seal—a final blessing, a quiet goodbye wrapped in love.

I miss her. I miss her more than words can hold. The ache is constant, like a soft hum beneath everything I do. Sometimes, I wonder if she ever felt lonely when I was too caught up in my own world. Sometimes, I wish I had asked her why she stayed up to watch football with me. But deep down, I know the answer.

She loved me. In ways I’m only beginning to understand.

Tonight, as I watch the match alone, I imagine her beside me. I imagine her smile, her warmth, her quiet joy in simply being near. And though the distance between us now is immeasurable, I like to think that somewhere, under the same sky, she’s still watching with me.

For Ummi, always. Al-Fatihah.