I finally moved back home from the theatre limelight. I don’t know what took me so long to resign from the stale cigarette and rancid wine. I guess I wasn’t thinking all that straight.
Before I decided to move back, I dreamed of you one night. We rode our bikes to that big pine tree by the beach. I wore the turquoise fairy dress you bought me for my 5th birthday. It was such a breezy sunny day. I smelled the ocean scented fragrance from your fingertips when you reached closer to fix my hat. I looked up, the blue sky piecing through your windblown hair in strips. You smiled at me like a sunflower. And I knew you were pleased with me. Mama, it has been so long since I dreamed of you again. When I woke up, I still felt the warmth of your hand on my freckled cheeks, and heard you saying “Darling, look at your beautiful glow! Your smile makes the sun shy.”
Mama, most of the time I was so alone. The stage was filled with clapping audience. I was too scared to look as I knew you weren’t there no matter how I searched for your face. My success was meaningless without you Mama. People thought I was busy achieving to please you. But only I knew, I was just avoiding seeing you ill. I didn’t know how to be your daughter, the grown up and responsible one. I was still a little girl in that fairy dress who needing her mommy to fix up her hat.
Now I am home, strolling the same beach we once walked every day. I heard the same waves slapping the rocks in anger, the same sun pouring abundantly at the ocean, the same pine tree carrying more shade. But Mama, you are my missing piece. I am still that little girl hopelessly fell off the bike, tripped over the tree roots, food got snatched by seagulls. Mama, why do I have to grow up?
Photo taken by Cassa Bassa at Long Reef beach, Sydney Northern beaches, Australia