Over the weekend I was watching a new limited series called MAID on Netflix. This series is one that touched my heart and got me emotionally as I thought of the life that my own mother had to face.
I used to be one that think, "Oh, how embarrassing it is to say that I am from a single family with no father". Over the years, I grew up realising there was nothing to be embarrassed about as my mother is strong and she raised three kids on her own.
Why am I writing this? Well, watching the series made me think that there are people out there, be it single women or mothers or even husbands for that matter, that are trapped in Domestic Violence Relationships and feel like there is no way out. There might even be husband or wives that are unaware that they are causing Domestic Violence to the people they love.
So, I felt there is a need for me to share my story. Well, our story. My family's story. Hopefully, this story could help someone to find help.
This piece is also to tell my mom, "Thank you. Thank you for staying strong and raising me to be a human being. Thank you for never giving up and giving me the best that life has to offer".
DISCLAIMER. I was at a very young age when a lot of this went down. So, the incidents I remember may not be accurate but is of what I remember and stories that my siblings as well as occasional emotional heart-to-heart that I have had with my mother.
I honestly don't know how long ago was it. It comes in flashes for me. When I was still in my diapers, pre-school or junior high. I remembered yelling, screaming, crying, breaking of glasses and hiding in storerooms. I remember the reeking smell of alcohol, cigarettes and banging of doors. But there is one thing I'll never know, the pain, physically and emotionally, of my mother as she held it together to the point where I don't even remember much of the things we have been through.
Maybe it is because I was young or maybe my mind just blocked it out but I don't remember much of it to be honest. I remember it being like a getaway. Every time we left, it never felt like we were running. It felt like we were going on a road trip or a vacation.
I don't even remember the number of times we left the house to live in shelters. My mother had to even beg her family to let us stay the night while she figured something out only to be turned away and left us on the streets with nowhere to go. I remember bits and pieces. From the old man breaking my favourite dollhouse to holding a kitchen knife to his chest to my mother's black eye. But, I don't really, remember.
I used to think my sister had it easy. She studied in a boarding school and she wasn't home much. My brother took the biggest hit of it all being the son and my father's crazy idea that he wasn't his son. The thing is she was the one that remembers it all because she was at the age where she knew what it all meant while I had the IQ of a peanut. She remembered it all; the screaming, the beatings, the breaking of glasses and my mom sent her to boarding school to get her away from it.
The one thing I do remember clearly is that no matter what, my mother made sure I had a roof over my head, food to eat and an education.
To this day, frankly, I never understood why she stayed and suffered what she suffered. I never understood why didn't she just leave it all behind and start a new life. Why she thought staying with him would give us a better life. Why didn't she get help?
Maybe. Maybe she thought the same thing I did. "I never want my kids to be brought up in a broken family. I don't want my kids to be without a father". Or maybe, she just felt like she has nowhere to go because she is alone with no friends and no family to support her.
Oh, don't get me wrong. She HAS a family. Parents, siblings but none that cares enough that when she begged for help, they kept their doors locked and their wallets zipped. Not even when she had to take care of her youngest sister who was diabetic or her mother who was sick. Nope, I guess some families aren't really family. Well, that's a story that isn't even worth telling.
A scene from MAIDS helped me understand a little.
"They go back more often than not. It takes most women seven times before they finally leave."
I honestly don't know how many times it took my mom before she finally took us and left. I only remembered a few. As lavishing as it sounds, my mother used all her savings and took us to a decent hotel. We even rented a cheap apartment all the way in PD to get away from it all. Rented a space above a clinic to stay in. Stayed in a shelter once too where we had to live on second-hand clothing.
What I do remember was when my mother found a way to get us into the YWCA. We lived there for years. I don't even remember how long. My mother had to send my brother to boarding school because it was an association for women and well, my brother was growing into a man. I vaguely remember my mom walking me every morning to school. She made sure I had my breakfast before I got to school while she went for her measly job.
A measly desk job that gave her enough to ensure that we paid whatever is necessary to stay in the association and school for me, my brother as well as my sister. My mother spoiled us to no end. She made sure that we had food in our stomachs. Breakfast, lunch and dinner while all she had to keep herself full was coffee and light crackers. I never knew that as I laid snuggled up in our bed clothed, warm and fully fed. I probably don't even know what else she had to go through to this day.
My mom was never one to tell her feelings when she is in pain or sad. I don't think I'll ever know what she had to go through. Even to this day. Right now, at the age of 64, turning 65, at 6:43am, she is getting ready to go to work. I can hear her preparing lunch for herself and extra for us who are working at home during this pandemic.
Despite being from what people perceive as a broken family, I can tell you this. My mother loves me with all her heart, her body and her soul. That, itself is enough for me to say that I am PROUD to be in the family I am in. We are broken. Yes, we are. We are traumatised and scarred for the rest of our lives but we are alive. We are alive and we are well.
My mother worked her ass off from one shitty job, to another shitty job and now even in another shitty job. She is still in debts from sending us to school, college and lavishing us with gifts every holiday season. She has not done ANYTHING for herself to this day. She doesn't own her own gold necklace, she doesn't own a RM1,000 handbag, she doesn't even have her own laptop.
She made sure we all went to school. She made sure we all had tertiary education. She made sure we had our favourite snacks. She made sure we were dressed fashionably well. She made sure we had all we needed as teens; laptops, wifi, tv, money to spend on things we don't need and most importantly, a home.
Every sweat, every blood dropped, every tear she has ever shed, every black eye, every cent she has spent, I can proudly say, while blowing my own horn, that she has brought up 3 amazing children. Yes, we are loud, vulgar and definitely selfish in many ways, we argue a lot but we are successful in our little ways.
Despite it all, the debts that we are clearing off, the mistakes that we have made, the past that lingers in our minds, every day... Every day, we grow one inch higher. Every day, we step up in our careers. Every day, we are one step closer to clearing our debts. Every day, we learn how to be a better person.
In 2021, I am now a General Manager of a company. My sister is one of the Head of Marketing for a Medical Division of a conglomerate while still being a Manager for the main group. My brother is a medical lab technician at a government hospital while living in Penang independently. We have a dog, a rabbit and a sugar glider. We all have our own cars, except my mom, she can't drive. We have travelled overseas and taken countless family holidays. Every month, my siblings and I are able to give my mother allowance (or rather pay her back for every cent she has spent on us) and in a few month's time, we will be moving to our very own purchased home.
To those that need to hear it,
No family is ever broken. No child from a single-parent family is broken. No person should have to suffer mental or physical abuse. No child should have to face pain due to the mistakes of adults. No one should be afraid to ask for help. No one should ever feel like they are alone.
Leaving is not running or escaping. Is giving yourself a chance to start fresh. It is giving the other person a chance to be better. It is giving you a chance to live. Don't be afraid to be on your own. Don't be afraid to ask for help. Don't be afraid to try. Don't be afraid to give yourself a chance.
To my mother,
Thank you. A thousand, million, gazillion times, thank you. Thank you for giving us life. Thank you for all the food on our plates, the different roofs we had on our heads, the education that we never took the time to appreciate. Thank you for showing me that I can be whatever I want to be and letting me be whatever I want to be. Thank you for accepting my flaws. Thank you for keeping me steady despite the mistakes I make and constantly celebrating my success. Thank you for putting up with my selfishness and laziness. Thank you for all the holidays. Thank you for buying me expensive gifts which you should be buying for yourself. Thank you for being my mother. I love you. Even if I don't say that enough, I love you from the bottom of my heart. I will make you proud.
