The Ugly Me

Will you still love me

when I turn to be so ugly?

I looked at her. She came out of the treatment room with one hand clenching her waist and the other holding one of her breasts. Her sagging breast. She was plump and of fair complexion. She grinned her teeth as if she was in a whole lot of pain. And her pale face accorded with the look of a patient. I think her age must be around 45 years or more.

She wasn't even disturbed with me staring at her. I was plain rude but she couldn't be bothered. At first, I was attracted to her boldness of walking at the emergency waiting room without wearing a bra. But then, I quickly noticed something striking. She kept massaging the bra-less breast. The one on the right if I am not mistaken. And the grinned teeth. She must be in terrible pain!

With her were her kids. Two girls and a boy. They were all young. And happy. They were joyous as if they were celebrating something. The boy was jumping around the mother, occasionally holding a pose for one of the sisters to snap their pictures from the handphone. From what I heard (oh, obviously...I was eavesdropping too!), the mother was discharged with other treatments as follow-ups. 

Ha... the kids were reunited with the sick mother. However much pain inflicted on the woman, I think, the mother would feel very much better with the presence of her loved ones. She would not need any medication for that. Slowly they went away. Out of the emergency room to their car, I supposed.

Then, this whole scene made me thinking. Something moved me here. 

The woman looked so strong with that sick face. She walked so slowly but she did not ask for help. She grinned but laughed at the same time. And...there was no sign of a man's help around. The kids were unaccompanied by other adults. They were young, independent and fine. But I was pretty sure, all they wanted was their mother to be with them.

The sagging breasts. The pale face. The unkempt hair. The shabby shirt. How can you be beautiful in that condition? But truly, beauty does not come in between the love of a mother and her kids. Unconditional love. Pure. Serene.

"Do you love me, kakak?"

 I always ask Sofea this question. She always answers a 'yes' as quickly as she can. More of like a drill.

"Do you think I'm pretty?"

"Aaaaaa....."

Oh no! That long pause with her rolling eyes!

"Hey! If you don't say that I'm pretty, I will not buy you toys anymore!"

I love you so much dear. Unconditionally.