I got a 3-year full scholarship in 2011 and went to boarding school hundred miles away from home by the age of 15. Still the same island and the same province though, but I could only go home twice a year, for more or less a week, during semester holidays.
I can't remember it exactly, but freshmen were not allowed to use mobile phones that often. I remember that it was hard for my mother and I, being the only one each other has. She had a hard time (she was a such a big cry-baby back then, even all of her siblings would say so) and so did I. My mother went to a private college in Surabaya, and as my aunt(s) often recalled, she always cried on her way back from home. She would whine and come back home as soon as she could. She was that baby, even among her younger siblings. When I was away at boarding school, she started to really want to move closer to me and my grandmother would comfort her.
Of all 3 years I'd spent there, she only visited 4 times. One was on the day I moved in, second was when she had a short haircut with beautiful dark brown highlight, third was the day she went for a retreat (there is a monastery not far from my dormitory), and the last was the day I graduated.
The second time she visited me, we went to city park near the church. We sat on the grass, she took a picture of me and I took hers.
The third time, she felt sick during her visit and should sleep at the clinic. By the time she had to leave, I cried ugly in front of my building watching her back disappear inside the old elf, and a very kind senior hugged me in silence.
When I cried, I cried ugly and more often than not it would make other people cried too. Maybe it was too painful to watch, or maybe vulnerability is contagious. Maybe my companies were the most warmhearted people after all.
I forget how it was going, but I've grown to be a very independent daughter. It was hard to pin point, but we kind of grew apart. We rarely called each other (maybe she often called but I didn't answer), we rarely texted each other (maybe she often called but I didn't reply). These are even the best scenarios.
Entering university, she escorted me on the day I moved in. Before my final year there, she only visited once, when our hometown church went to Yogyakarta. We rarely texted and call. Even on the day my father died, she was not there beside me. It was right at her 44th birthday after all. During my final year in uni, I told her about my struggle for the first time, and for a couple of months, she started to pay a short visit.
Maybe I did it too much.
Maybe I did it the wrong way.
Maybe I just don't want to make her feel the pain anymore.
Maybe I just don't want her to worry anymore.
Maybe I just don't want to be a burden.
Before I hit 17, I stopped asking her for money. I stopped asking her for basically anything. New dresses? No, I'd take what we had on the closet, I'd love to wear some vintage clothes. New gadget? No, I'd take what she had and she could buy newer one. Make up? I didn't need it yet. New shoes? Let me buy the cheapest one.
Entering uni, I didn't even ask for a new motorcycle. I used our old yellow yamaha that she bought when I was in 2nd grade. After couple of months, she finally bought newest honda to be used at home, and I continued using the iconic yamaha until I graduated.
I never asked her more than she'd sent. The money she sent for my living cost was at bare minimum, at the year 2014 around IDR400K and from 2015 to 2018 around IDR500-750K. I had those days when I only had 20K left and it's still the second week of the month. I had to buy 3 pcs of fried tempe/banana each afternoon to make me fueled for the entire day, it only costed me IDR2K. Sometimes I hit the point where I found myself in front of small pawnshop. Thank God I never proceeded to gage anything.
It feels abnormal to ask my mother for help. It feels like a sin.
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