How my Mother Becomes an Ibu

I was raised to call my mum, emak. It was not until I was perhaps five that I changed to call her Ibu.

I was beginning to read then. I remembered reading a Malay book about a family of a grasshopper. In the book, like any other Malay literature, it used "Ibu" as a term for mum. And it just struck me that the word "Ibu" is just beautiful. Endearing, short and perfect. Cultured yet loving.

The whole idea of the word "Ibu" somehow seemed so romantic to my naive mind than. The idea of changing it is thrilling in the first place. But to have call her Ibu,I think would have fulfilled part of a child's literature dream.

So that's what I did. I asked my mum whether I could call her Ibu instead. My mum, who was probably delighted that I could read, agreed astoundingly.

Now that I am an Ibu myself, I really am at awe with my mum. My children wanted to call me mummy when they were introduced to english books. Unlike my mum who happily agreed, I stood my ground. Ibu it is for you.

I told my mum this, when she was in the ICU. How much I admire her sacrifice of everything. Oh I so remembered her look then. She looked at me in the eyes. She didn't even attempt to say anything. She smiled a bit. Just looking at me babbling. And because we couldn't communicate we really looked at each other. Pity that it took my mum to lose her voice that only then her only daughter would really look into her loving eyes. I can only read love in them.

Lately it somehow struck me, when my kids were making such big fuss over me, calling me Ibu over and over again, I realised, I really won't be calling anyone "Ibu" forever. No one will answer me if I call. Not anymore.

Today is the mark of the 100th day that she left us.

Only prayers that I can offer her. Al Fateheh.

I am missing her just the same.