Helen Lee: Fashion, Life, and Learning

Happiness consists in contentment.




Mom never delved into my privacy, or even pried. Strange as it might sound, the more personal space I could dominate, the fewer secrets, or say no secrets, I kept. However, things began to change when someone special appeared in my life.

The Cupid arrow unexpectedly struck me: the boy overwhelmed my heart, abruptly, preoccupying my mind, and I couldn’t even focus on my academic work. I grasped a pen and put it to paper and composed so-called “poems”. I have scrawled poems to let out my feelings since mom instilled in me a love of literature as she read bedtime stories when I was a kid.

Abducted by love, as you can imagine, I was so absent-minded that one day I left my uncovered poem right on my desk:
“Infatuation turned out to be a huge crash.

Cross the bridge,

Never again will my heart scratch.

Memories of our days have been dashed.

\And you are the one I can only make a best wish.”

Back from school, I almost forgot the poem stuff. As usual, mom got dinner ready, and let out no sign of suspicion. With a black stare at the dishes, I had no appetite at all.

Mom cleared her throat with a concerned tone:”What’s wrong with you, honey?”

“Nothing, I’m fine.” I STAMMERED. “I have a load of homework to do.”

I franticly finished my dinner and rushed to my study. The more I tried to concentrate on my homework, as you might expect, the louder his name popped up in my mind. Like a flash, the poem laying quietly on my desk sprung up to my mind. Mom must have read it! My heart was pounding anxiously. I’ve never mentioned him to mom, much less to reveal the secret that he was my significant other. What a shame to be queried that I was drawn out in young love. Leaning against the door, I stared at the ground and shuffled my plod. I was trying hard to invent a perfect excuse to hide my would-be embarrassment, when the knock-knock-knock broke my train of thought.

“Are you ok? Can I have a word with you now?”

“Sure.” I stuffed my poem in the drawer.

Mom came in, a smile flickering across her face:” I have read your masterpiece, your love poem. To a sunny boy?”

Chances of concealing and escaping were slim, but I still retorted:”No. Never.”

“Oh, get it off!” She blinked with a gleam in her eyes.

I blurted out:” It was just, you know, incidentally, sort of graffiti. ”

“Have you showed your stuff to anyone else?”

“No, my pals will make fun of me!” I put my chin against my chest.

“I was talking to your professors, people who really know about poetry.” Mom gazed earnestly at me. “Go for it, and keep on writing your own poems. Why not submit it to a magazine?”

“Well…” I looked up to mom whose eyes were filled with anticipation and love. Mom patted my shoulder. “By the way, I always think you, my cute daughter, deserve a better guy. What is called love right now is just a bee in the bonnet, which is never eternal. Mr. Right is gonna be there for you in the future.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, and spilt the beans about the mysterious boy. Now he is no more than a chapter that has been long closed. As for mom and me, fortunately enough, she always has faith in me that I am a big girl who can handle things pretty well and get everything in control. That is also why I appreciate all the inspiration and understanding from my mom, my sweet mom.

One Response to “MOM, SWEET MOM”

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