It was a lazy morning. Her thoughts drifted from one memory to another and she felt particularly nostalgic today. It had been four years and eight months now and there wasn’t a day when she didn’t miss Ma. Thoughts of the times they had spent together, how Ma brought her up, her words and her love came gushing back to her. Sometimes, she felt helpless, wanting to run to Ma and cling on to her just like when she was a child. But she couldn’t. She longed for her presence but in vain. The only tangible feeling to Ma were the piles of old photographs that were scattered around the corners and crevices of the house… dusty and disused. She brought a pile out and carrying them to the dining table, opened the albums, one by one. Pictures of her as a baby, pictures of her grand yet homely birthday celebrations, pictures of Ma and her together, pictures of other family members… it was all there. And each  photograph served as a souvenir of the beautiful moments that she had experienced.

Though she still yearned for the impossible, she felt grateful. For a child, a mother is the world and as one grows up, the world expands and Ma becomes a part of the whole. But sitting with the old photographs and looking at Ma that morning, for a few moments Ma became her whole world again…


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