Maybe it had been too presumptuous of her, but for much of her life, Miss Brown had assumed that should a day come where she be estranged from her daughter, it would be her daughter knocking desperately on her house door asking to be let in and begging for forgiveness.
Never had it occurred to her that it would be the other way round.
Blame it on the morals and values that had been instilled within her since her childhood by the elders, teachers and society.
Blame it even on the family type dramas that through the decades she had watched in the cinema and on the television.
The stories which she'd heard always ran in such a way that a child who lacked filial piety towards his or her parents would either suffer severe punishment meted out by the heavens, or face karma of some sort.
And in the movies and television serials, the stories ran in such a way where the estranged child would somehow come to his or her senses, realize the gravity of the sin committed, and run to the parents begging them for forgiveness, whereby, of course, there would be the happy reconciliation between child and parent, which would then be demonstrated through relieved hugs, words of endearment and tears of joy.
It was always the child running to the parent.
Never was it the parent running to the child.
And yet here she was, an old lady of nearly 80, outside a strange apartment, calling out the name of her daughter as she knocked desperately on the door.
How long she stood there, Miss Brown didn't know.
Fifteen minutes, half an hour maybe,
Her daughter didn't come out. Neither did her boyfriend with whom she was living with. The person that eventually did open the door was the domestic helper of the (supposed) landlord who told Miss Brown that no one of that name lived here and could she please go away because all this persistent knocking and calling out was harassment and it was her entitlement to ring the police if Miss Brown continued.
So Miss Brown went away.
Back down 20 floors to the ground floor of this private apartment block in a neighbourhood that she was somewhat familiar with, because this was the neighbourhood her daughter had lived in prior to moving back to the family home, and Miss Brown had at one time lived for a couple of months with her.
Miss Brown couldn't believe that her daughter wouldn't speak to her. She couldn't believe that she would leave her mother knocking desperately and persistently outside the door and not come to greet her or speak to her.
Maybe her daughter was afraid, Miss Brown reasoned, but really, all she wanted to do was to ask her why she'd moved out, if there was any chance of her moving back and if her daughter really wanted to stay away from her poor elderly mother, if there were any chance where they could meet up or maybe come back for a visit.
All she wanted to do was to ask her daughter to not be so abrupt with her, to not cut off communications with her, to not abandon her.
That, Miss Brown had been so sure, was what she wanted to do, and with all the years of being together as mother and daughter, with the bond that they shared, surely something like this was not so difficult for her daughter to do.
She was so unprepared for the rebuttal experienced that evening that despite what had happened, Miss Brown was inclined to believe that what the domestic helper told her was true, that her daughter really wasn't living in the apartment, and that the information she had received about her new residential dwelling was wrong.
Except that it was unlikely that the bank officers in charge of the apartment mortgage would be wrong, or the police, for she received a phone call the next day and was informed that a police report for harassment had been made against her by her daughter.
Never had it occurred to her that it would be the other way round.
Blame it on the morals and values that had been instilled within her since her childhood by the elders, teachers and society.
Blame it even on the family type dramas that through the decades she had watched in the cinema and on the television.
The stories which she'd heard always ran in such a way that a child who lacked filial piety towards his or her parents would either suffer severe punishment meted out by the heavens, or face karma of some sort.
And in the movies and television serials, the stories ran in such a way where the estranged child would somehow come to his or her senses, realize the gravity of the sin committed, and run to the parents begging them for forgiveness, whereby, of course, there would be the happy reconciliation between child and parent, which would then be demonstrated through relieved hugs, words of endearment and tears of joy.
It was always the child running to the parent.
Never was it the parent running to the child.
And yet here she was, an old lady of nearly 80, outside a strange apartment, calling out the name of her daughter as she knocked desperately on the door.
How long she stood there, Miss Brown didn't know.
Fifteen minutes, half an hour maybe,
Her daughter didn't come out. Neither did her boyfriend with whom she was living with. The person that eventually did open the door was the domestic helper of the (supposed) landlord who told Miss Brown that no one of that name lived here and could she please go away because all this persistent knocking and calling out was harassment and it was her entitlement to ring the police if Miss Brown continued.
So Miss Brown went away.
Back down 20 floors to the ground floor of this private apartment block in a neighbourhood that she was somewhat familiar with, because this was the neighbourhood her daughter had lived in prior to moving back to the family home, and Miss Brown had at one time lived for a couple of months with her.
Miss Brown couldn't believe that her daughter wouldn't speak to her. She couldn't believe that she would leave her mother knocking desperately and persistently outside the door and not come to greet her or speak to her.
Maybe her daughter was afraid, Miss Brown reasoned, but really, all she wanted to do was to ask her why she'd moved out, if there was any chance of her moving back and if her daughter really wanted to stay away from her poor elderly mother, if there were any chance where they could meet up or maybe come back for a visit.
All she wanted to do was to ask her daughter to not be so abrupt with her, to not cut off communications with her, to not abandon her.
That, Miss Brown had been so sure, was what she wanted to do, and with all the years of being together as mother and daughter, with the bond that they shared, surely something like this was not so difficult for her daughter to do.
She was so unprepared for the rebuttal experienced that evening that despite what had happened, Miss Brown was inclined to believe that what the domestic helper told her was true, that her daughter really wasn't living in the apartment, and that the information she had received about her new residential dwelling was wrong.
Except that it was unlikely that the bank officers in charge of the apartment mortgage would be wrong, or the police, for she received a phone call the next day and was informed that a police report for harassment had been made against her by her daughter.