Sometimes I wondered if my mother has pictured how I'd be like when I grew up. Has she ever looked at my minuscule fingers, feeling the firm grip on her index finger when I was a baby and wondered how would be it be like for me to hold her with my long, slender and butterfly like fingers when I grew up?

Truth is, I never held her.

We were never close enough to not feel awkward about holding each other.

Was she disappointed? I never found out.

It seems like the more I tried to make her feel proud of me, the more disappointment I caused. Was she the one who does not understand me? Or was I the one not understanding her? I've never find that out either.

You could never get over disappointment, nor you could over anger. You thought you'd forgive and go on. But truth is, most of the time, you've never really moved on. Anger and disappointment lie low - like a cobra, waiting to attack at any moment when you least expect of it.

I am a G6PD deficient. When I was a newborn, I have to be kept in a transparent cube with ventilators and lights shone on me. Everyday, my mother said, she would visit and look through the glass panel, wondering when will I grew out of it.

I wonder if my mother, too, had felt like Pandora, after she bought me home from that cube, wished that she have first scrutinized the contents - heartache, cleverly disguised as a gift.