Sami Ha Zen

My little sister had posted this letter on Facebook on our mother’s second death anniversary last month and it left me wondering.

To me, mum was a totally different experience. I was the secondborn to a young woman who was then trying to figure out life in the desert. Her naive and childish nature was yet to mature to start enjoying life. We had exactly 13 years together. When I had started my teenage tantrums, it was hard for her to handle me and I was packed off to a boarding school. She was polishing her parenting skills and working on her relationship with me. I was never her ideal child and the disappointment never left her.

Stubborn-headed and the extrovert I am, she never liked me being a journalist. She wanted me to get into creative writing and probably win, at least a Booker Prize.

Yes, laurels were important to her and she always questioned my aversion to it. The more she told me that being competitive and recognised

is important, the more silent I became in my career.

She never liked my ways, but she definitely believed in the truth I carried all along in life. I was always scared to hug or even touch her and it’s hard to believe she was a different person to my sister, 12 years down the lane.

The last thing she asked me to do was to spearhead a calligraphy class at her school for international exchange students. She gave me a box of chocolates at the end of the workshop. I saw her beaming with excitement as she introduced me to her colleagues. She was on her third chemotherapy session the next day. Still then, little did I or she know that it was time to part.

We were more professional buddies, than mother and daughter. I often corrected her letters, wrote applications, helped with her research. Both of us hardly talked about our personal lives. I envy my sister because she got the mother I wanted.

It’s hard to say I miss her. Maybe, if she was around, we would have bonded better, maybe not!

Sami Ha Zen is a dreamer by profession, environmentalist by nature. Her introvert character is a direct reflection of her humour and intelligence.