Enough for today: A Phone Call With My Mum

Growing Up in Hardship: The Burden of Expectations

When I was younger, I believed my home was different—trapped in the lowest socio-economic class.

My parents quarreled constantly. My mother roared at my father about money—never enough, never secure. Their struggles dictated our lives, and their hopes weighed heavily on us, their children. Education became their escape plan for us, their chance to break free. We bore the burden of expectations, studying relentlessly, carrying a weight we never asked for.

At times, it felt suffocating. We were bound to lead a life of envy—watching others move forward while knowing that financial limitations might always hold us back. The fear was simple: effort alone might never be enough.

Yet now, as an adult with more education, more financial stability, and access to more of what I once longed for, I ask myself: What have I truly passed down to my children?

Resilience Through Hardship: My Mother’s Journey

My mother’s life was not shaped by success, but by survival. In 1950s Singapore, she never placed much value on education. Whether due to societal norms, personal struggles in learning, or a preference for practical skills, she focused on work over academics, helping in her family’s food business while her sisters attended school.

Marriage was another test. She chose a gentle, hardworking man, but financial struggles loomed. Life after marriage was not ease, but endurance. Raising children, managing household chores, and making ends meet consumed her world. She often vented her frustrations through fiery tempers and relentless complaints.

Yet, she did not let setbacks define her. She nagged, she vented, she exploded in frustration—but she always picked herself up and moved forward.

Faith and Transformation: A Deeper Understanding

Her relationship with faith evolved over time. Taoism once offered comfort, but it was primarily prayers and rituals without structured teachings. When my eldest sister introduced Christianity, my mother fiercely rejected it, nearly severing ties over her resistance.

Yet years later, she listened. Christianity, unlike Taoism, provided structured explanations—weekly Bible studies, discussions with church workers—offering her a new way to process life’s struggles. Faith became a source of understanding, not just hope.

I often wonder—had she received deeper teachings in Taoism, could she have found the same acceptance earlier? Perhaps faith itself is less about which path one takes, and more about whether one is given the opportunity to truly understand it.

Labor Without Recognition, Resilience Without Reward

She worked tirelessly—not because she had achieved success in her own terms, but because she refused to let failures pull her down. Each job was a survival mechanism, a way to keep moving despite obstacles.

As a babysitter, she was trusted—word spread, families entrusted their children to her. But one tragic incident changed everything—a baby with an undiagnosed heart condition passed away in his sleep under her care. The undisclosed medical condition absolved her, but the emotional toll must have been unbearable. Still, she carried on.

Later, as a vendor in a school canteen, her business was modest yet steady. But when rent increased and income was capped by the student population, she accepted reality, closed shop, and moved on. Failures never consumed her—she simply adjusted, again and again.

Aging, Acceptance, and a Different Kind of Love

Then life threw its final test—my father suffered a stroke. She became his caregiver, taking on responsibilities beyond her means. The burden grew until professional care became necessary, and he moved to a nursing home. Now, she lives alone.

Despite limited resources, she insists she is fine. Remarkably, she still saves money—proof that contentment isn’t about abundance, but about understanding what is enough.

Yet, I remember her rage against my father when I was younger—frustrated, exhausted by financial pressures. At times, I believed there was resentment. But now, despite everything, she visits him daily, tending to him even in his semi-conscious state.

Life denied her the luxury of growing old with ease. No vacations, no leisurely hobbies. Instead, her devotion manifests in routine hospital visits, in quiet acts of care, in an unwavering presence.

Parenting and Food: The Lessons I Passed Down

As a homemaker, my mother cooked whatever was affordable at the market, always worrying there wouldn’t be enough food. The result? We tasted an incredible variety—whatever was cheap, whatever was available.

Now, as a parent, I no longer worry about affordability. My concern is different: Will my kids like this dish? Will they eat enough? I don’t want them to eat too little.

But in shielding them from scarcity, I have unknowingly limited their exposure to variety. They have grown comfortable with the known, reluctant to explore the unknown.

What they have missed is not just diverse flavors, but a parent who teaches them to embrace life beyond its limitations. My mother’s way of feeding us was not intentional—it was necessity. But it shaped us in ways I never appreciated until now.

Success Isn’t Having More—It’s Being More

Her life speaks volumes, asking a quiet question of me: In all my education, in all my privileges, have I truly fared better than my illiterate mother?

Perhaps the measure of life is not in what we achieve, but in the light we leave behind. Some burn brightly from the start, achieving greatness early. Others, like my mother, illuminate the world slowly—through perseverance, sacrifice, and silent wisdom.

She is proof that success is not in having more, but in being more.