I am my mother's daughter
I dropped my mum off at the airport a few hours ago. As I waved goodbye to her, I felt my heart flop and sink to my knees. With every step she took, the resolve to hold back my tears grew weaker. Yet I made sure that by the last time she looked back, my face was just a blur, shielding my ugly, crying face. As I turned around to walk back, my eyes were glued to the ground so people wouldn't see my face. I didn't have to worry though, since I'm quite certain no one would have even cared to spare me a second glance in the bustling departure terminal of Dubai airport. Walking back, I began to reflect on the month that was and how quickly it had gone by. She arrived in Dubai on the 3rd of February. It had been over two years since she had last visited. The plan was to stay in Dubai for about 10 days and then head to Canada for a cousin's wedding together. I spend quality time with my mother and try to spend at least a month every year with her. But it is usually in Mangalore...