Yes, to the normal eye she is nothing out of the ordinary. Just another middle-aged woman, struggling to bolster her waning sanity in a vicious world while grappling to strike a balance between being a good mother and devoted wife. In my eyes, and in the eyes of those who have had the
privilege to come across such a phenomenal woman, calling her ordinary would be nothing short of an insult.
She is an army. When I see my mother, I see an army. Not because she is muscular, sports ripped arms and a toned sixpack and brandishes ammunition and firearms. Neither is it because she is your typical Supergirl on a rush to save the world. Instead, it is because my mother is a fighter; ready for the war. She is all the superheroes ever created combined and more. Aged 49, my mother has successfully made it in the commercial world, emerging as one of the managers of a top-notch retail furniture shop. For a sector dominated by males, she has constantly fallen prey to chauvinistic behaviour. Instead of succumbing to the negativity, my mother has always picked herself up, trampling over her obstacles on the battlefield on her rise to the top like the fighter she is. She started from the bottom, and now she is there, at the top.
My mother is an army, wearing her pain and experiences as her armour. Each and every scar, both emotional and physical forms part of her network of trophies, creating a record of all the battles she has ever fought and won. Having been married at a relatively young age by today’s standards, she had to shape up because she could no longer ship out. Her father’s death, the person she had been closest to in her family was another heavy blow that threatened to send her wallowing in the pits of depression. Being the optimistic and bubbly woman, she did not allow these to be setbacks in her life, she was more than geared up to get it back on track.
Thirty years later, my mother has not only levelled up to be one of the strongest women I know but has reached such a standard of greatness, a
far cry from the timid girl she was when her journey as a mother began.
Just like an army, my mother has been a shield, reminiscent of a mother hen on a bid to protect her hatchlings from the wolves in sheep’s clothing ravaging the society. In a world where girl children are most vulnerable to exploitation and manipulation, my mother has made it her top priority to keep us safe. Never a day has passed without her going out of a way to ensure not only the security but comfortability of my two sisters and I. Bluntly put across, she is the word overprotective redefined. Although we feel that she invades our privacy at times, her intentions are good and I really would not want that to change somehow.
At the end of it all, my mother is a Queen fit for royalty, a role model I adore beyond words and the epitome of love, protection, strength. Without her, my life would be a war, hectic! Although life has dealt several blows to her as a way of throwing her off-track, I can proudly say my mother has conquered. Donning a crown over her head, wearing her pain like stilettos and clad in the armour of experiences learnt throughout her life, she is an army.