Some years ago, in one of those rare Sundays when I was able to have breakfast with my mother, she asked me what I actually do at work. She knew that I was a software developer by profession but did not know what work that entailed.
Now, my mother was very engaging in conversation. She was curious about a lot of things, and she was always interested in our lives. Not in a meddling way, but more of an evaluative way. I could still remember her expectant face while I fumbled with words describing what I do for a living. She was not exactly a luddite as she was able to indulge in her love of computer word games, but she belonged to the generation who double-clicked when a single left click would do.
So I tried my best to tell her something about coding, something about the development lifecycle, something that eventually made her conclude that basically, I just sit in front of the computer the whole day. If she found that disappointing in any way, she didn't show it, at least. I knew that as a mother she worried about our well-being and for all I know, she wished I'd have a different job or a different life, for that matter.
It's been four years to this day since we've lost her. More than anything, I wish we had more time. Enough time to make her see that my siblings and I turn out ok. Maybe she knew we would, I don't know. Maybe it was me who had doubts. I'm not changing the world or anything, but every day, I try to measure my words, I measure my actions in such a way that no one will every fault my parents for the kind of upbringing they've done for us.
If my mother asked me now what I do, I'd say I'm still trying to be a good daughter.
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