My Guardian Angel

By Clarise Tan Pei Sim

In the cold of the night, a frail body shivered as lighting cast ghastly shadows across the cadaverous walls of her room. Tiny fists clutched a worn blanket as the child pursed her lips to brace the nocturnal horrors. 

‘Boom!’ Such ferocious thunder led to a primal scream of raw terror. Immediately, doors flung open, lights switched on and dashed in was her heroine and knightess in shining armour. Her mother. 

Cradled in warm and familiar arms, the child melted in her mother’s embrace as her mother’s voice trailed away. 

‘It’s okay my dearest. Mummy’s here. Mummy will always protect you no matter what.’ 

Wind whistled in my ears as I stand at the edge of my sanity. Below me, traffic bustled as usual. Taxi honks. People shouting. Welcome to New York City, where all dreams come true. Except mine. 

6 months ago, an Ivy League university offered me a full-ride scholarship. As I read that email aloud to my mother who has single-handedly raised me for 17 years, her caramel- brown eyes illuminated with tears of joy as she pulled me into her loving arms. I made it. I finally made it. However, I didn’t know that this is when things spiralled down. 

Discriminated. 

Harassed. 

Stressed. 

Depressed. 

I was not living the American Dream. Rather, a hellish pit. Arms in the air like a crucified deity who is ready to wash the sins of the world and of myself, I took one last breath as I … I… ‘Ringggggg’ 

Caller id: Mummy 

With trembling hands, I took the call. ‘Girl, mummy miss you very much. I know it’s hard to be out there all alone. If you’re stressed, you can come back home anytime, okay? Remember, mummy always loves you.’ I crashed down onto the parapet and whispered softly. ‘Mummy, I love you too.’ 

My Mother’s Workspace

By Teoh Jin Wen

Lazy afternoon sunbeams filter through the blinds, basking the space in an ethereal glow of orange. Dust particles float about, searching for a place to land, but too restless to settle too soon. The soft mechanical humming of printers and fax machines is just faintly heard from across the room, where I stand, the side of my forehead pressed against the border between my room and this one. 

I sigh as I glance across the room. An old bookcase with sinking shelves stands in the corner. It’s filled to the brim with all kinds of reading materials – from textbooks and novels to reports and manuals. Another stands adjacent, home to numerous binders and files, each with some sort of important-sounding label. Almost all of the books are hardcovers and many at least university-level with prestigious origins. None have dust, as the owner still references them often. 

The desk can be described as “organized chaos”. Multiple stacks of paper pile neatly across its surface. Wires dangle below it, bumping against each other and its wooden frame, somehow still sturdy after its making 30 years ago. Multiple tabs line the top of the computer screen, with an additional conference call currently ongoing. 

I watch as my bustling mother swiftly extracts papers from the piles and attends to the machines, all the while chuckling and responding charismatically to whatever her colleague said. Her work chair creaks underneath her slight movements, a sign of wear. She adjusts the frame of a photograph as she settles back into it, smiling fondly as if in response to the family inside it before circling back to the call. 

The corners of my mouth curl upwards as I make the journey to the kitchen. She works hard; the least I can do is make her some coffee. 

Embracing Regularities

By Richelle Yuxian Khor

Although the lighting in early morning was dim, the traces of time could be seen clearly on the woman’s face in the mirror. She smiled. She did not know when and how the lines found their ways onto her face. It could be around her early 30’s, when she was juggling between amateur parenting and cumbersome office work; or when she was staying up late to prepare her daughter’s school necessities. Those wrinkles were not aesthetically pleasing, so she instinctively reached for the bottle of skin lotion that was long untouched. However, when she thought of the gruelling tasks ahead, her hand stopped. She sighed, not wanting the costly lotion to be wiped away with her sweat. 

For a woman like Rebecca, the habit of frowning had made ageing inevitable. Whilst doing the laundry, she caught sight of a pink tube top among the humdrum whites and blacks. Feelings of resentment arose as she could feel it glaring ferociously at her, provoking her to jump on her feet. Her distaste was further aggravated when she imagined her daughter walking into the tuition centre in such provocative outfit. At any second, the devil could have pounced on her. 

As Rebecca was stomping to her daughter’s room, she was fatefully confronted by a picture of her hanging on the wall. She was in her blossoming youth; and her outfit was just as sprightly as her daughter’s. The entanglements in Rebecca’s mind tightened when she was reminded that they had not talked for days since she last reprimanded her daughter for disobeying the curfew. Daylight seeped through the curtains. Breakfast menu of the day was peanut butter and jam. Biting her lips, she scurried back to the kitchen. The talk could come after that rascal’s sweet dreams.