Cup for Mother | Tebuireng Online

This year is the last year of my daughter in kindergarten. Next year, he will sit in elementary school, and for some reason I feel time passes so fast. It was just yesterday that I carried his small body that smells of milk, hugging him in a warm blanket, and now he began to spell the world with small steps that were full of enthusiasm.

His name is Kirana. He is only six years old. Her body was tiny, her eyes were round like the moon that fell to the earth, and his voice … oh, his voice was soft like a whisper of prayers in a quiet night. He is a cheerful child, loving, and even though he is still very young, he has a will that sometimes surprises me.

A week ago, his kindergarten teacher announced that there would be a Festival telling the district level. I know Kirana likes to tell stories. He often held a spoon and pretended to be telling stories in front of his dolls who sat neatly on the bed. But I never thought, he would come to me that night and said with sparkling eyes, “Mother … Kirana wants to take part in the story competition.”

I smiled, stroking her smooth hair. “Want to take part in the race? Wow, great. Why do you want to come, honey?”

He paused for a moment. Then said in a small voice, “Kirana wants to give a trophy for Mother. Let Mother happy.”

I hugged him tight right then and there. There is no trophy that is more beautiful than the sincere intention of a child who wants to make his mother happy. My tears almost fell, but I held back. I want to look strong in front of him.

****

The festival is only two days away. I know it’s a very narrow time. But Kirana is not afraid. Every morning, before leaving for school, he will reread the story chosen by his teacher. The title The little bird and big wind. A simple story about courage, friendship, and hope. Perfect for children his age.

After school, he will sit in the living room with his dolls, practice intonation, expressions, and even hand movements. Occasionally he will invite me to sit into his audience. He repeated the story many times. Sometimes choked up, sometimes forgetting, but never gave up.

At night, when his small body began to get tired and his eyes were sleepy, he still asked me to listen to the story one more time. “Just one more time, Bun. Let Kirana memorize more,” he said, yawning.

And I … of course I sat next to his side, staring at the tiny face that glowed with enthusiasm. While occasionally holding back tears. Not because of sadness. But because it’s proud. Because happy. Because the emotion that cannot be explained in words.

****

The day of the race arrived. We left early in the morning. Kirana wore a traditional light blue shirt, with a small ribbon decorating her hair. He looked nervous but smiled. On the way, he held my hand tightly.

“Mother … Kirana is afraid to forget the story.”

I turned, looked at him softly. “If you forget, just smile. Continue to continue again. The important thing is that Kirana has dared to stand up and tell stories. Mother is very proud.”

He nodded. And when his name was called to go up the small stage, I stood among the other parents, biting my lips so as not to cry because of emotion.

The small voice began to play. Slow but sure. He told with sparkling eyes, occasionally turning at me, as if looking for strength. And I always nodded, giving him a smile and a look of love.

Time seemed to stop when he said the last sentence from the story. All applause echoed, and I ran to hug him as he went down the stage.

“Great Kirana!” I said while kissing his forehead. He smiled, his eyes filled with tears. “Kirana is happy?”

“Yes … Kirana is happy because you see.”

A few hours later, the announcement of the winner was read out. My heart was beating fast. I didn’t think too much about the results – my share of Kirana had won since he decided to join.

But when the name Kirana was referred to as the first winner of the Festival, I looked at his little face that was gawking in surprise, then cried happily in my arms.

“This is … trophy for Mother,” he said, offering a small golden trophy.

I couldn’t speak. I can only hug him. Long.

That day we did not go home directly. I want today to be an unforgettable beautiful memory for Kirana. So we walked along the rice fields that stretched green on the outskirts of the village. The afternoon sun was warm and the wind blows slowly. Kirana held my hand while licking the vanilla ice cream that I bought from a small shop near the school.

“Mother … is this the happiest day huh?”

I nodded. “Yes, dear. The happiest day.”

We sat under a guava tree. Small birds fly low above the stretch of rice that began to turn yellow. The afternoon sky flushed slowly, like a painting that was etched with love.

Kirana leaned her head on my shoulder.

“Tomorrow Kirana has become an elementary school child, Bun.”

“Yes. Kirana is big.”

“But Kirana is still a mother of Mother, right?”

I chuckled, kissed the crown. “Forever. Until later Kirana is big and can give other trophies, Mother will remain proud, no matter how small.” He did not answer. He just smiled and looked at the sky.

In that simple afternoon, I feel the world is so beautiful. No need for a luxury building, no need for expensive prizes. Enough children who love their mother, and a mother who is grateful every day for a small gift named Kirana.

---

---

Writer: Ummu Masrurah