T

he moment that I treasure the most is when I saw the look in my mother’s eyes upon her return from the holy land of Mecca.

Her eyes beamed with joy and her smile radiated warmth — a sunbeam through the clouds. She hugged me, kissed my cheeks and wrapped me in her affectionate embrace. Tears gently trickled down her face. She wiped them off, and softly said: “These are happy tears. My dream came true at last.”

I looked at her tenderly and struggled with my tears, till the agony of unspoken words burst my essence and I trembled. “We missed you dearly.” I smiled. “The piggy bank has done its duty well.” Hearing this, my mother beamed with an even larger smile.

Since I was a kid, my mother has always kept celengan or a clay piggy bank. One day, as my mother put some small change in it, I asked: “Mum, why do you put money in there?” She ruffled my cropped short hair and smiled. “Well, it is for my dream.” I asked further: “What is your dream?” My mother looked deeply at my eyes with profundity and then replied whimsically “Going to the Holy Land!” Henceforth, my mother always worked hard and saved a small portion of her money whenever she could.

She taught me how important it was to save. We didn’t always have the money to buy things and we didn’t always know our spending needs in the future. That’s why we had our savings. Money doesn’t grow on trees, she would tell me. We have to work hard to earn it. Handle money with respect, never squander it.

Having three children with an elementary school teacher as the sole breadwinner, we have led a hand-to-mouth life. It was a decision by necessity when my mother finally decided to help. She worked to ensure that her children finished their education for better future.

Often, I would wake up in the middle of the night to find her working on things that she would later sell. She sold traditional home appliances, cooking herbs, children toys and even chicken meat depending on the market situation.

Selling in the streets was about the only option available to her, due to her limited education. For this reason, she never had the luxury to sit by her children and help them study or just to tell stories, because by the time she got home, she had to do the housework before collapsing asleep.

On so many occasions, my mother postponed her own dreams for her family. When my siblings and I finished school and enrolled in college, she emptied her savings for us. She broke her celengan again when my father decided to continue his studies.

She even encouraged my father to go on the hajj when we had enough money. At last, after decades of dreaming, my mother finally set foot in Mecca in Saudi Arabia, along with more than 2 million other pilgrims this year.

Her relentless hard work paid off. Nevertheless, such hard work has also taken a toll on her health. At 64, my mother looks physically frail, but mentally competent. Her face is lined with wrinkles and her once raven-black long hair has faded to silvery gray.

Herlina
Jakarta