Outfit picked, shoes matched, she moves to the makeup table. Eyeshadow done, dabbing off just the extra lip color, she wears gloss. As I hand her the matching bag, she takes the working bag instead. With a quick glance at me, she smiles, "I’m running late. Take care." And just like that, she’s off to work. While her perfume still lingers in the room, I sit there thinking about how pretty she looked—my mom.

In the kitchen, sitting on the counter and watching her move effortlessly, I help by gossiping. She cuts the onions without crying, while I just got kicked out for spilling salt everywhere—only to be called back for the taste test. At night, I sat next to her, reading as she did her skincare routine. The 7-year old me was too young for skincare, but fascinated, I waited for the day I could join her.

Every time she buys herself a lipstick, an eyeshadow palette, or a new perfume, she makes sure to get me the same one. "You should have your own," she would say with a smile, handing me the little bag. The same skirt, the same dresses—we were always matching. I never had to ask; she just knows. And, of course, I still take her bags, her heels, and her makeup—her twin, always lucky to be her daughter.

But the real blessing? Growing up beside her.

Growing up, I have always been mesmerised by how my mom carries herself—confident and always glowing, even when life has not always been kind. My mom, a woman who thrives in a world that never slows down, is still figuring it out but somehow always makes it look effortless. She never says it, but I see it in the way she faces struggles with quiet resilience and still finds time to enjoy the little things. More than anything, she teaches me confidence—not just by telling me, but by showing me and living it.

I will always run to her when troubles become unbearable. It’s almost instinctive—the way my feet carry me back to her, the way my heart finds comfort in knowing she is always there. She is my first example of strength—always shining, always finding her way. Life itself seemed enamoured with her. I always think, “If my mom can do it, then I’ve got this too”.

I used to think that she had all the answers and that being a mom meant having life figured out. But as I got older, I realised something—she was just a girl too. A girl who became a mother, a girl who learned as she went, a girl who is guiding others toward their dreams while moulding her own along the way.

"Who do I tell this to?" That thought never weighed on my mind because Mom was always there. From running to her to spill the beans to desperately waiting for her to pick up the call because she should be the first to know—I realised how loud the silence is when she is not around.

As I heard her speaking to her mom, telling her about the pretty dress she saw and the new recipe she tried, I understood something: moms will always be a girl’s girl. From her doing my hair to me straightening hers now, I know that I can be her girl’s girl too.

She has always been that girl to me—my first and forever Girl’s Girl.

While the crowded room feels empty without her,
And life gets hard, I will always need her.
I know she is living life for the first time too,
But through her, mine won’t always feel like the first.
I will know how to handle it—because my mom did it once.

She taught me everything—
Just not how to live without her.

To my first best friend, my forever home,
Thank you for always being there.