Motherings

(this was written in 2015)

It was the first day of the new year.

my husband and i, together with our then-only child, went to Disneyland in Hong Kong to watch this spectacular show called Paint the Night.

A bit odd for a family with a small child perhaps, to be spending New Year in this place of artificial lights and manufactured happiness.

But I took pictures, and I did remember how my son’s eyes widened with all these lights—one of his favourite things in the world.

In his eyes I saw magic.

All that waiting on the sidelines, cold and crowded, dissipated.

But we were not alone in experiencing this magic.

That night we saw groups of Filipina Domestic Workers with their charges enjoying the show.

It was one of those rare moments I saw first hand how these things like care and motherly nurture can indeed be manufactured too. 

The taking turns of who goes to the toilet so that the kids are still looked after.

That sharing of food, that patient nudge, hugs every now and then, when someone is whining, or bored, or hungry.

It all seemed so natural, for someone to transport all that love in her heart, and give it to someone not even her own.

They could have chosen to be with their own, but decided not to because of far greater things.

Bless these women.

Their warmth kept me warm all through the night.