A Dress for Mom

I don't have mother and I never see her face at all. In that place, there were a lot of kids in my age and I can play with them. But, I still feel lonely. I just want to be with my mom. Auntie Linda and Sinta were not my mom. They just took care of kids like me. In an old building which was managed by a company to gather kids who were left by their parents. I once asked Auntie Linda, where my mom is. Then she answered honestly. My mom sent me here because she worked at Singapore. It seemed interesting. But, you'll be upset later because she worked as a maid. I know she worked for money. But why did she has to go far away to be a slave? Ah, this country has too many people and they struggled to find a job. So that's why, many of us wander to another country. Many kids, many lucks, bullshit.

I really wanted to meet my mom, but I didn't know what to do. So, Gretha, my roommate, gave an advice. "Let's just pray. We don't know where your mother live if we want to send a letter."

"How?"

"Here. Let me teach you. Get your hands together, dunk your head down, let's pray. God."

"God."

"Please give a health."

"Please give a health."

"For my mom in Singapore."

"For my mom in Singapore."

"So."

"So."

"She can go home and we can meet. So we can be a family once more."

"She can go home and..."

"We can meet."

"We can meet."

"So we can be a family once more."

"So we can be a family once more."

"Thank you, God."

"Thank you, God."

"Amen."

"Amen."

From that moment, Gretha guided me to pray. But, not long after that, she was adopted by a rich man. He liked to sing and pray loudly for the sake of his business, not to give love for people. I and Gretha never met anymore. So, I learned to pray by myself. I wrote all of the thoughts from my head on a notebook. Then, I memorized it and I prayed.

One day, I found Sinta's magazine in the sitting room. I opened page by page and I liked the content. Beautiful adult woman wore pretty outfits. Fashion designers delivered their ideas through clothes. Then, I took a piece of paper and tried to draw what was on the magazine. Because I liked that magazine so much, I took it and saved it in my room.

Next day, after lunch, Auntie Linda didn't allow us to leave from the dining room. "Who stole Sinta's magazine yesterday in the sitting room?" Because she didn't get any answer, Auntie Linda walked around to see our face. "Ara," Auntie Linda called my name, like usual, softly. "Follow me now."

Auntie Linda took me to the sitting room and her only daughter, Sinta, was sitting there. That woman was elegant like Auntie Linda and we like them. "Ara, were you the one who took my magazine?" I only kept quiet. "Next time, you have to tell me, if you want to borrow something from me. It doesn't mean you can't have what you want, but you have to ask permission first. Now, you can have my magazine. It's for you. I don't read it anymore."

===

But, I only lie down weakly on bed right now. My white hair is getting thin, my face is wrinkled, and my body is skinny. I remember those moments when camera shots looked at me every time I walked on red carpet. Billionaire's claps every time I stood on catwalk stage. Getting interviewed a lot of media because I've made rich women magnificent clothes. I delivered my ideas through stitch by stitch about humanity, justice, and togetherness. Not about religious values.

Every day I prayed so that I can meet Mom, but it never happened. This didn't make sense. A lot of conglomerates from Singapore wear my designs. My mom must be working to one of them. Didn't she notice me from clothes they wore? She must be ironing and washing those clothes. I also saw religious people easily judge and discriminate poor people often. I remembered Gretha. She was the one who teach me how to pray, but actually she left God for her business and hung out with rich people. So, I threw my notebook which filled by praying. For a long year I've lived without a backup.

One day, because of endless bottom backache, I was taken to hospital by my youngest son to meet a doctor. His brothers made it on another city and lived there. Doctor diagnosed that I had a kidney cancer. And I wasn't sad at all. I thanked the doctor and I went home. When I saw photo albums which filled by my design sketches, I called my youngest son to buy me a notebook. From that, I wrote, memorized, and prayed. Because my memory isn't that well, my youngest son often guided me, backing up Gretha.

My pray are only about me thanking God because He has fulfilled my wish. He knows even though I never get close to Him, I actually still want to see my mom. I want to save her from slavery. Or even worse, abuse in any acts. But, well. Forget it. I'm closing my eyes and I only see memories. Starting from when Auntie Linda gave me an old sewing machine on my birthday, selling my designs to some friends, wearing my own design at my wedding, until I made clothes for my three sons. Because I imagined my mom being with me too often, I made her clothes, like she was going to wear them. In the end, my models and clients who wore them.

Actually, there's one gown which I save in my studio. After my seamstress finished their work, I told them to save it in one private room. No one can touch it. No clients or models can wear it. A green and sleeveless dress. It's as long as foot eye. That gown is wrapped by white tule. On the tule, rare and small stones are pasted like stars. That one is for my mom.

On the bed, near my death, I hug that gown. My sons know I'll leave when I ask for that gown to be brought to the hospital. They cry around my bed. But I don't feel afraid to leave the world. I'm now free because my longing will be complete.