My siblings and I, as we listened to this story through our years of growing up in poverty, took it as a lesson and recognize that the world exist as such. We are reminded to always stand up for ourselves and jostle for our place in society. More importantly, even if all efforts failed and we have to face some embarrassment, we must always finish the race.
I love listening to stories that my parents tell me about their own personal experiences and how they react to them.
Most stories are nice, but a few leave a bittersweet taste. Some stories carry significant lessons and perspectives – possibly even reflections on the person one wish to grow up to become.
The story of my dear mother’ sporting exploits was one that always stayed with me since young. It is a reminder on what I should do when things are truly not at their best …and also a kind of a wake up call that life is not always fair.
My mother, Umikalsum Salim, was born in 1954 in an ultra conservative family . She only completed primary education and was highly insecure about her extremely poor family background. Being the only daughter of a first marriage, she grew up being hyper sensitive about the lack of fatherly affection she wished she had. At the of 10 she begged her father to allow her to finish the next 2 years of primary education so that she could have friends outside her home.
My mom was not the smartest student but she was blessed with physical strength that many her age could only wished for. She was proud of the fact that she could carry two big tin cans of water from the kampung well on both hands even morning at 6 am, to fill up the water supply at home. She then had to wash family clothes and complete daily chores before heading to school.
One of her greatest gift was her ability in sports. She used to compete with older students who were 2 divisions above her age group. She never went to the Olympics, neither did she ever represent a proper sports organization or club. She was a fierce competitor in any race that she was in – in fact, she would almost certainly win her single races. However, due to her insignificant family background, she was often overlooked for single events as the placement of runners for single races were often assigned to the children with more connected relationships or background, to showcase them in the school annual sports day. Instead, she was usually placed team relays as the final runner for the team. She would end up finishing last for the last team, being unable to fully cover the lag in distance caused by the 3 slower runners ahead of her. Then, she would bear the crowd’s laughter when she came in last. She told me many times she wished the ground would swallow her at that point.
My siblings and I, as we listened to this story through our years of growing up in poverty, took it as a lesson and recognize that the world exist as such. We are reminded to always stand up for ourselves and jostle for our place in society. More importantly, even if all efforts failed and we have to face some embarrassment, we must always finish the race.
This is the story from my mother….that was retold over the years with both laughter and a tinge of annoyance. Her story became our family’s psyche and it has served us well in our own lives.