When I look at myself in the mirror, I see your eyes, your nose, and your smile. Many a friend has commented on how I take after you in so many ways. But I do not even need a mirror to see how much you love me and Harvey.
Yours are the hands that tirelessly prepare for my lunch in this overly busy schedule of mine, the same hands that slip the slacks and suits in the washing machine and hang them out to dry. Yours are the eyes that observe when I am acting weird or hurt. That same pair of eyes get stung when I get hurt.
Yours is the voice that nags at me when I am not sleeping enough, wakes me up when I am running late for work, and tells me how beautiful and loved I am despite my hormonal flaws and mood swings.
Your masterpiece of curtains, well-swept floors, and yummy meals is my home sweet home. Your arms are my first cradle. And when I was too weak, young, and unable to speak, you were the one who closely guarded me and made sure that I never got hurt. Sure, you were unable to shield me from my own reckless decisions as an adult, but that never made you love or care for me less.
Life for me is such a short thread of commitment, patience, and generosity. But despite that, you have been an extension of my character in as much as I am the extension of your legacy as we pass from one decade to another. It was your reminder to have more patience, to bear the tiny upsetting stuff of life, and to give more in all aspects.
You are not perfect. But in retrospect, I look at how you have been as a parent and as I look forward to becoming one too, someday, I realize that despite the imperfections, you have already set a very high standard of what a wonderful mother and person should be like. For that, I hope I can even be half as awesome as you are with us.
In lieu of this busy and constantly in transit life, I do not get to say it a lot. But I want you to know that I appreciate and love you.
Happy Birthday Mom!
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