Your 6th birthday came and went in a flash. Has it only been 6 years since you joined our little family, making it a fantastic four? It seemed like you’ve been with us forever, because I cannot remember how life had been before you arrived now.
I loved the Powerpuff Girls when I was in my teens, watching the cartoon with your BaBa, my boyfriend then, cooing over the oh-so-adorable and colourful little girls with super powers. I could never decide if I was more of the tomboy and tough Buttercup, or the calm and composed Blossom, but had never identified myself with the sweet and sensitive Bubbles. You, my dear girl, are a great 3-in-1; I finally understood what Professor Utonium meant by “sugar, spice, and everything nice”. He was talking about you.
I know it has not been easy growing up in our family. BaBa, GorGor and I are all the typical first borns – we exhibit very strong personality traits of first borns. Although you are the first born daughter, you are technically the second born too, and you again have a mixture of traits of both. It must have been tough on you, constantly struggling to fit in with us, yet your independent streak is extremely strong. You fight for our attention, even if it means using frowned-upon methods.
You are a great individual, strong-willed and determined, and I’m extremely proud of you because of that. Once you make up your mind on some thing or task, you have the tenacity to see it through. But darling, this part of the world we live in values compliance more than do-whatever-I-wish. For the sake of your survival, until you become powerful enough to manage your own destiny, please pretend to be more compliant and less willful. Connect your natural sensitivity to your instinct to act; create the necessary synergy for these 2 talents of yours to work in your favour.
In other words, stop banging your head against the wall cos the wall ain’t gonna cave in before your head does. Choose your battles, darling. There are more than enough for you to win later in life.
You have also taken an interest in boys. It is okay, you don’t have to hide your embarrassment behind a covered mouth, limp waves of your hand in denial and girlish giggles in front of me. I understand perfectly; my first interest in boys started when I was seven years old. I might have been 1 year older than you then, but there have been lots of changes in technology and society between my generation and yours, so we are probably on par after adjusting for the differences.
After a few samples, I can more or less determine the type of boys you like by now. And it’s pretty easy – the type I don’t like. The type who is as far away from your BaBa’s type, physical appearance wise. Or your GorGor, to a certain extent, for the matter. A pretty boy is okay, my dear girl; but his values, quality of his mind and heart, must matter much more than the physical grandeur that will definitely fade with time. Choose wisely, for a heart broken by a boy not compatible to nor worthy of your time and love is one too many. I may have to start chanting this every year from now though. A nag, you have turned me into.
MaMa only has 1 final wish for you this year – be wise. Use your gift of wisdom, be it to choose your battles, or the boys. Love you to infinity and beyond.
Lots of hugs and kisses,
From MaMa to you, my little Sunshine-Pirate-Princess
Recent lapses in memory triggered me to pose this question to Megan when we were lying side-by-side on her bed, having our girls’ talk on Saturday night in the dark, “What if MaMa falls sick one day and forgets who you are, Megan? What will you do?”
Knowing that it would be a difficult question even for an adult child to answer, let alone a soon-to-be 6yo, I still wanted to hear her answer.
I loved every bit of her honest response. She giggled nervously, erm-ed a couple of times, and then said, “I don’t know how to answer that, MaMa. I don’t know what to do.”
I persisted, and rephrased my question, “Is there anything you would do to help MaMa remember you, if I really forget who you are?”
That was when Megan hugged me really tightly, and grabbed my hand. She said, “I will draw a picture of me on your hand here, MaMa (tracing the back of my hand with her finger), and write ‘Megan loves MaMa’ so you can remember me.” With that, she planted a kiss on my hand, exactly where she last traced her ‘drawings’.
All the love I have for her rushed into my head and heart, and I swooned with the intensity of the emotion. She really loves me! And I prayed really hard that night; that my memory stays with me even when I grow old and sick, for I never, ever want to forget her…