This portrait, drawn by my daughter Jackie, brings back the memory of my mother—and the painful regret of never having treated her kindly while she was still here.
MOTHER’s Day in Malaysia falls on the second Sunday of May. Unlike most celebrations, Mother’s Day calls for a little more introspection. It is the celebration of flowers, feasts, and sentimental greetings. But beneath the flowers and the feasts lie deeper reflections. What really is Mother’s Day all about? Have we taken Mother’s Day to mean more than mere celebration? Have we really understood the true meaning of motherhood?
The origin of the modern observance of Mother’s Day dates to Anna Jarvis. She was determined to immortalize her dear mother’s memory. It would take some time, however, for Mother’s Day to become the worldwide celebration that it is now. Despite the changes Mother’s Day has undergone, it will always remain a recognition of a love that demands nothing in return.
I am glad that Mother’s Day is coming around again. As I think about it, I feel an odd mix of emotions. On the one hand, I have a lot to be grateful for. I have seen how my wife cares for our children and how she tries her best to raise them well. On the other hand, I have regrets too. I wonder how different things would be if my dear mother were still with us.
The strength and courage wife exhibits as a mother make her one-of-a-kind. People tend to believe that motherhood means nothing more than feeding your children and guiding them. It is indeed much more than that, however. Motherhood involves putting up with endless hours of waiting while your kid studies. It involves showing compassion during hard times. And most importantly, it requires giving, even when you have nothing left to give.
This is not an easy job, but it deserves our attention. They have been working tirelessly to make sure their homes remain safe and stable. Their role cannot be compared to that of anyone else, either. They teach their kids not by telling them things directly but through subtle actions. They show them that it is better to forgive than to seek revenge. In a sense, a good mother not only raises her kids but also prepares them for the future.
Mother’s Day is our way of honoring the women who have given so much to our family. We appreciate our wife because they continue to do their work without complaining. We are thankful because they are willing to devote their whole life to their family. Their contributions are invaluable, though we sometimes forget them in everyday life. I am confident, however, that I will never take this contribution for granted.
Personally, and unfortunately, Mother’s Day makes me remember some things I would rather forget. I cannot help but remember how I treated my own mother. Like many young men, I took her presence for granted. I thought that her job was to serve me whenever I needed anything. Her efforts and sacrifices seemed ordinary to me then. Only after I lost her did I realize what a great woman she was. This is perhaps why I will never be able to fully appreciate Mother’s Day.
There is one memory of my mother that I can never forget, especially on days like this. She was known for her Kopi O. In Tamparuli, and even as far as Tuaran, some would lovingly call it Guama Kopi O—Hokkien for “grandmother’s coffee.” It wasn’t brewed with any fancy method, nor served in fine cups. Yet it held a warmth that no café today could ever hope to replicate. Whenever I returned home after a long trip, she would fuss over me, making sure I ate and that I drank plenty. She’d offer me food the moment I walked through the door. It wasn’t unusual for her to set out several plates, urging me to eat more. And I—foolish, blind—found it a nuisance. I told myself she was smothering me. I could barely tolerate her fussiness. I was impatient. Overwhelmed. I didn’t understand.
Now I do. But she is gone. And no amount of longing will bring back the warmth of her Kopi O, or the weight of her love I so carelessly pushed away. It is too late. And that is the heaviest regret I will ever have.
I learned the hard way that the endless offering of food and drink was not about hunger—it was about love. It was her way of saying she missed me, her way of filling the distance that time and absence had created. Each cup of “Guama Kopi o” was, in truth, an expression of longing, care, and quiet joy at having her child home again. “Damn”! How foolish I was then!
As Mother’s Day arrives once more, I find myself standing quietly between gratitude and regret, appreciation and reflection. To my wife, I offer my deepest respect—for the remarkable mother she is, for the strength she carries with grace, and for the love she gives so freely. To my late mother, I offer what I wish I had given more freely while she was still beside me: understanding, humility, tenderness, and heartfelt gratitude.
Perhaps that is the true meaning of Mother’s Day. It is not about perfection or grand gestures. It is about awareness—about pausing long enough to recognize the silent sacrifices, the quiet endurance, and the countless acts of love that mothers give without expecting anything in return. In many ways, mothers are the unsung logisticians of the family, the ones who coordinate, anticipate, and hold everything together with quiet precision, long before we ever notice the effort behind the harmony.
Only with time do many of us come to understand that a mother’s love is woven not through bold words but through ordinary moments: warm meals prepared without complaint, endless worry hidden behind gentle smiles, and the quiet joy of seeing her children return home safely.
In the end, a mother’s love is never measured by what she receives, but by what she continues to give—quietly, consistently, and selflessly. And long after she is gone, that love remains within us, shaping our conscience, our memories, and the very people we become.
To all the mothers, I wish you all a very Happy Mother’s Day.
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