Sorry For The Unspoken Words .

"I have lots to tell. But I can't verbalize them all."

"You verbalize everything almost every second. Are you sure?"

"If I tell, I might cry."

"Tell me. I'll listen."

That one particular day passed and every moment after that was never mentioned. Though I know deeply in heart, she never forgets. She is just trying hard to never let it slip between her lips, afraid I might get hurt. About a thing that she could just not being bothered with, she actually listened and kept it close to her heart. I thought she would never care but when her tears were convincing enough to make me believe it wasn't because of dust but because of her nature of protecting and loving, I knew her heart sank. She gets hurt too every time I get hurt.

Me too. Me too.

For a split second after every silent fight and protest, I spend most of it reminiscing my irrational acts and unwise words. I thought she should never questioned about anything. How could she? How could she stop me from doing anything? She was once a teenage too. She should have known better. But I couldn't stop myself from bursting my irrelevant anger through unsaid words so I verbalized them through my eyes, my hands and my pursed lips. She ignored. But a quick glance was enough to read the atmosphere. She was mad, but she's sorry.

Me too. Me too.

I have always asked for her permission to 'jeopardize' myself. For every plead that I made, I knew she would hardly centralized the idea of it, for she only thought about the consequences. But I'm barely an adult. I need something to keep my youth spirit alive. But she rejected. Every. Single. Time. Every single time of 'No' and 'Forget about it' that I started to give up asking or convincing. I ended up sitting at the corner of my bed and did some imaginary demonstration in my mind, with hope that she knew it, just like how I knew she was actually scared if something might take me away from her. She could read my mind actually. In fact, she wanted the best for me but she didn't know what's the best way to do it.

Me too. Me too.

Few days ago, someone shared with me the same thing. The same worry. The same words. The same emotions. The same situations. Only two different persons. I barely knew what to be said. And what to be kept. I silently relate everything to my stories and took every bit of the word close to me. Two different persons who never met should have no ideas of how each other acts or said. But one thing for sure, they share similar things, things that any kind of mother would do. Mothers, they are built that way.

We could all agree that mothers are over-think, teary machines with irrelevant temper and judgment. We could all agree that we sometimes feel smothered, annoyed, ticked off and burning in rage for what is said and done towards us. But for averagely few decades that are given to us to appreciate, I guess we are obligated to do the best we can. Although I am never a perfect daughter. I've hurt her a lot. I surely had made her cry to sleep for I am merely a human with flaws and mistakes. She's a human too. If she could spend a little bit of her time to understand me, maybe we won't be fighting, bickering and kills each other with silent treatment or unspoken words of disagreement. But again, I guess we are made that way as her children, to accept in rejection, to agree in disagreement, to nod in protest, to laugh in tears and to smile in rage. 

We only have a mother. Just one average person to bother us with her never-ending nags, sarcastic remarks, unnecessary worries, over-thinking treatment and emotional, non-exist judgment. Of course we are hurt, so much that we don't even know how to put our feelings into words. But Allah surely has written something for us all. To bear with only one complicated person in our life, by giving us the assurance of the beauty of Jannah. Our mothers are not like any other mothers. But they are all we got and if one day the world seems to be putting us down, the safest place to be would be in her arms.