My 8 mile

Mum said she has never really had any ambition even when she was a kid. It was because she had always had a weak heart. I pressed on fervently even for a little hint that she may have had some kind of tiny hope, a dream perhaps. But she smiled slightly and told me, no. Mum has never had the thought of someday becoming a doctor, a lawyer, an astronaut or even an "octopus" like how a friend told me what she had always imagined to be.

Wow.

Yes indeed. Wow again. Does that mean mum totally, completely invested herself all these years into what she saw she already had? And us of course, her kids. Why, her ambition was us, that we would be good people.

Mum and I were always at loggerheads when I was younger. It seemed whatever I did annoyed her, and whatever I did not annoyed her. Whatever I tried to do also annoyed her and well, whatever I tried NOT to do annoyed her.

My conclusion at 14: Mum hated me.

My brother however was the quiet one, the soft spoken one, the obedient one and the easily managed one.

"Learn from him, be like him, you lousy person" came the constant screams.

I remembered vengeance seared like parched tuna cappacio. I was raw, red, fiery and cooked. Over the years I had infused the initial rage into a wild kind of passion. I felt strongly about things, took stands, psychologically sometimes and became an emblem of lit embers. Charged with ashes and coal, yet surrounded with the threat of a glowing flame that might get ignited miraculously without warning. Gray is hardly the word to describe my psyche. I was  the determined type that would press on just because I felt the blood curdle in my veins.

Stubborn. Stubborn as a mule, 'obstinate as hell', 'strong willed'.

Some of these terms were nothing but terms. I wasn't any of those things. I was probably stubborn but I also backed out quickly when I felt ill at ease. Yes 'obstinate as hell' when I want to accomplish something. And definitely strongwilled in the most "trying" way. I had hated hard, loved hard too and fought hard. Lost hard and won hard.

In situations like this, the God, the Jesus I knew was always predominantly a guilty reminder. I could never ignore the existence of a sheer bright light that flickered ceaselessly in my well of melancholy. I knew I knew I had to take refuge but I wanted to hate first, and try very hard to settle my scores. Such anger. I wanted to love too, but my kind of love had spikes. Always came the revolving blades that went deep into someone and then it would sort of bounce back onto myself. Double edged sword. I had inherited mum's stubborness I thought. She was so persistent in being a perfectionist. The high demands, the expectations. I had lusted for the praise, the encouragement that people were carelessly bestowed. I wanted mum to glow with pride when she saw me.

Mum has always been weak bodied. After the heart problems, came the breast cancer and then the gastritis and then the colon cancer. I've grown up watching this woman fight disease, fight fear, fight with dishonesty, freeloaders and of course us, my brother and me. Well, me.:)

But what mum did best was fighting to keep the faith. Mum never forgot to give thanks to God. Every morning she took to her knees, prayed feverishly to thank Jesus for keeping her family healthy and well and her two kids to be good people blessed with happiness. Mum also prayed for other people, those that suffered from ailments and the disease torn areas in foreign lands.

It wasn't mum's type of religiousness that brought me closer to God. It was that light she had introduced to me and I had tried snuffing it out one too many times in a spiteful attempt to provoke her. But how does one snuff a light so true and so unwavering? So I tried to ignore it and went on my way. Funnily I can leave God, but He can never leave me alone.So many times I needed to intensively forgive I was told. Forgive those people who hurt you, forgive the words that sliced you apart. Forgive the people, the actions and yourself for your self loathe.

And I always wanted to and I did.

But even though voluntary, human forgiveness is not everlasting. It is possible to really forgive hard but that kind of forgiveness had a drawback. The memory was always a warning bell, the heart guarded. I realized I could forgive but not let go. It made me more and more like ashen embers. Darkened, charred but nonethless infused with the flying sparks. I just needed a trigger before I would be ignited and slowly blazing fire.

Thank God, this situation got rectified when I crawled back into HIs presence. Forgiveness and love from God differed greatly from humans. I now know, I forgave wrongly, and I loved wrongly.

It is only by placing God as my first love that made me understand how I could love another person. With God, there is perfect love. WIth perfect love, the love given to another person will never contain or cause insecurity, jealousy, malice, fear or anything. It was only by loving God that the overflowing love from that cup could be given to another person. When we try very hard, our best to love someone else, there still is room for more. They always either cannot feel that love you give them or they always want more and more. Then the insecurity comes, then the jealousy and the possessiveness. It is the same with ourselves. Because we cannot feel that same love with God as the centre, we would be drowning in those negative traits too. Forgiveness too had the same ideology. I had to forgive people only by learning to give God the human will to forgive. Within myself the forgiveness became a curiously bitter one, but the one that you get from God brings a joyful twist.

Mum said she was delighted that I had the heart for loving people who were unloved, people who had less and people who were hurt. I told mum how I hated her before but because she was my mother I had no choice but to live with it and forgive her. I told mum I had a hard time forgiving her but I still did. Now however I told mum forgiveness was so easy because God allows it to help me. I was also forgiven for my mistakes and I felt it. I used to have problems accepting forgiveness too so naturally I was insecure feeling, that I was never good enough to be forgiven, even by God.

How nice to have confidence and security in God. I look back on my writing and recognise the angry person I was. The insecure and affected person. It is good to know I went full circle and back home. Home is where God is.

And everything I see now has shown me a clearer perspective. God has blessed me with much. Mum, brother, cousins who loved me much and these friends who never gave up.

I like that I am stubborn in that fighter sort of way. I like to love things passionately. To feel strongly and not give up easily. To not be affected by negativity. I like God turning my anger into strength and my hatred into being resolute. My uncertainty into decisiveness and insecurity into confidence. Thank you God for healing and mending a fragile vase.  I have so much now and I am overflowing with blessings.  Thank you God for healing mum and protecting her.