Q

The first vivid realization i had of my parents’ love for me was on a morning before my primary 5 camp. At the time, unlike my bowel-movement-tracking, rabid scheduling self now, i had no idea of organization. Often, i’d find myself stranded an hour before school without a washed set of uniform, without my name-tag, or homework.

That morning, it was socks. On our packing list, “Socks – 5 pairs” was conveniently forgotten until 5.30am the day of the camp. I had to be on campus by 6.45. In a groggy panic, i woke my parents up and told them about my worrisome sock-less state. They were always on my case about neatness and preparedness, so i was understandably steeling myself for a good nag.

But nope. Without a grumble, they set out determined to procure socks. At 5.30am, just woken up, for their daughter’s adventure camp which probably seemed very insignificant in their adulthood. On hindsight, they might have just been too dazed from recent sleep to say anything.

One of them fished out my used socks from the laundry and hand washed them; the other used a hairdryer so i wouldn’t have to squish my feet in dampness.

I remember sitting on the parquet floor at the foot of their bed, trying hard to keep awake, listening to the whirr of the hairdryer. The morning was a cold one, but the warmth radiating from the dryer kept me content. I watched my parents, heavy lidded and silent, but their faces steadfast. There’s nothing my parents couldn’t fix for me, I had thought – and at 11 I resolutely believed in that.

–

I was reminded of this a few days ago, when i woke up chilly, but was far into sleep to rise and find the comforter (kicked off my bed, i think). A couple of minutes into a half-hearted slumber grumble, i felt warm fluffiness slide up my legs. My grandma did that almost without fail. She sleeps at ungodly hours, but before she does she’d check in on me. Before i stumbled back to unconsciousness i thought of how uncanny her timing was.

The next morning i asked my po how she knew i was cold. “Tch, I do this every night for you ok. I’m your grandma, who else would dote on you like that?”

And i thought there really isn’t. Friends, even lovers, love you but conditionally – it develops over time with shared experience, favors, understanding. Family loved me once i popped out, imperfect, vulnerable – a squealing useless lump. One day i want to have my own lump to love too.