Attention to all mothers: Breakfast in bed and batching up a pound cake may be a thoughtful, time-honored gesture for Mother’s Day. However, there is an alternative to a precariously balanced tray of eggs, diluted coffee, and burnt toasts, all of which you eat by yourself whilst the kids hang around watching, scrutinizing every bite she makes; ‘Is it delicious? Do you like it? Should I make more?’
That method, I agree, is a classic western tradition that's wonderful. Yet, wait for it, you still have to do the dishes.

So, because spoken words do get lost eventually, this girl will do what she knows best; writing.

It happens when I least expect it. I wake up, trudge to my mirror just as I’ve done every other day since Year Zero. But today, my mum is staring back at me. The pudgy-rounded face I didn’t intend to inherit, the bulging eyes, the expression of the lip that echoes a familiar face, not mine, is right there in front of me.
My mum has an amazing spirit about her; always up for the run and never stopping for coffee breaks. Me? I prefer scavenging the contents of the fridge and watching HBO.
She measures up to a Thai “average height” and I’m known as the “midget”. She was known for her long, luscious hair; I’m known for my copper broom-textured mop.
Quite a number of people had told me that I looked like her, and yet, I didn’t in the least still expect to morph into her. And how she had equipped me with a weapon that’ll help me for life. Let me explain.

My mum has a killer mouth. No not in the physical Angelina-Jolie sense. A tongue that could clip the hedge, you could say.
In my 21 years of life, I’ve never failed to notice her ability to influence and sway people with her words. She had the uncanny instinct about the soft spots in which to plunge the knife, revealing the utmost truth and awakening reality of life. When I was younger, I’m forever trying to escape the blade; shielding out the harsh reality and her words of advice – up until a point in high school where I was dubbed as the “innocent”, “naïve”, and even as “the Disney girl”. Truly embarrassing if you ask me.

Yet there she was, in the mirror, and for the very first time, I saw my mum not as the assassin of my mind, but as a courageous woman, who has seen the passings of life at its more vulnerable. I saw in great flash the woman who had done her best, and better than most. She was ahead of her time, feisty about what s