Angel or Demon?

While I had no remote interest in either the book or the movie version of 'The Da Vinci Code'; I found myself drawn to 'Angels and Demons' because of the rave reviews on its awesome photography and studio reconstructions of the Vatican, Sistine Chapel, St. Peter’s Basilica and churches with beautiful works of art.

For someone who's not been to Rome and will not likely have a chance in the near future (sob..sob), paying $10 for such a visual feast is considered a steal. Now I definitely want to make a trip there! To top it off, I've always enjoyed Tom Hanks' acting skills and was not disappointed this time although of course, Ewan McGregor as the misguided Camerlengo had my attention from the beginning to the twist at the end of the movie.

Earlier on, there had been rife talks that this was an anti-Church production but I beg to differ because I believe movie-goers today are intelligent and discerning. 'Angels and Demons' comes across as an engaging mystery thriller with impressive sets, heart-thumping pace and perhaps if you will, many inaccuracies about dates and historical figures. But then again, the movie has never claimed to be a documentary. It simply presents itself as Hollywood entertainment albeit some flawed script and lame dialogue.

It does set one thinking though. With the 'bad guy' turning out to be the handsome and soft-spoken Camerlengo who firmly believed that the Church alone, not science, should dictate the moral creed of the Christian faithful, how far will one go to protect his opinions and position?

There is but a thin line between being an angel and being a demon.

Mary, mother of God....mother of mine

Mother's Day came and went last Sunday.

I was not feeling well and did not attend the dinner at my sister's place. I spoke with my mum on the phone though and cried afterwards. Through the airwaves, I could feel her love and concern. She knows I'm facing challenges at work. She knows how tough it is to 'inherit' a messy workplace and attempt to turn it around. She knows that a prophet is not welcome in his own land. She knows she can't do much except pray for me despite her own impending surgical operation.

But my mum and I are not close the way a lot of mothers and daughters are.

Born with a silver spoon, my mother had been a pampered child with 'ah mas' to look after her every need and pander to every whim. Studying at St Theresa’s Convent, my mother was the epitome of post-Japanese occupation baby boomer from a rich family who was ferried to and from school. Even her shoe laces were tied by the maids. This patricianism and dependence soon transcended into adulthood, marriage and eventually to motherhood.

My dad was from the police force, 12 years older than her and more comfortable speaking Malay than any Chinese dialects. It was not a match made in heaven or on earth as my grandparents objected vehemently to the union. Amidst tears, threats and disrupted studies in the UK, my mother got married and moved into her matrimonial home – into a house and a lifestyle a far cry from her own.

The marriage did not work. By the time he left, my mother was saddled with 3 young children and a battered spirit. She was barely 30. Pride prevented my grandparents from reaching out to their eldest errant daughter. An immigrant from China who made good by the sweat of his brow, my grandfather was a typical Chinese father who did not know how to show affection to his children. My mother was left with a little more than the stigma of shaming the family name.

My growing up years were largely fraught with blame and conflict because I was the eldest and had worshipped the ground my dad walked on. Alternating between bitterness and my own teenage angst, my mother and I never stood a chance to build a loving relationship. But in an uncanny way, I never doubted she loved me.

When I gave birth to my son, I began to understand her better. Being a mother is already tough, but being a single mother to 3 children? I can also see the changes in her the last decade. She has grown older, mellowed and softer around the edges. The glint in her eyes has been replaced by a twinkle whenever she plays with her grandchildren; the sharp words replaced by coddling and affirmations of praises for the kids. She is a great grandma. A better grandma that she ever was a mum.

I only realised how much lost time there was between my mum and I while planning for a Mother's Day dinner last year. It was a Monday night and I was trying to say my rosary. However, I was extremely distracted and could not focus. My brother was calling me to confirm our plans for our Mother’s Day celebration. Although on silent mode, the illumination from the phone seemed to beckon me away from my prayer. I was getting irritated and decided to ignore it.

But the Holy Spirit would not let me ignore a greater distraction of my heart. As I struggled with my beads, a silent but powerful prompting radiated from within the pit of my being. I must set things right with my earthly mother before I can come before my heavenly one. If Jesus accorded so much respect and reverence to his mother; how much more I should emulate him.

Without warning, I broke down and cried. It was the emptying of hurt and pain from the deepest recesses of my heart, of missed opportunities to love my mother. I felt an immense spiritual relief, as if the weight I had been carrying around for so many years was lifted. Yes, Mother Mary has made me realise that my relationship with her can only be good if my relationship with my own mother is!

Since then, I began to look at my mum as a person and not just a parent. While I am still not able to spontaneously hug her or express my feelings freely, we talk a lot more now. When I'm stressed with work or when faced with other challenges, I will share them with her. She might not have worked much in her life but she knows human nature and the only way to rise above challenges is through emotional fortitude and prayer.

As I penned in an earlier entry, I know my mum is praying for me everyday. A mother's love is unceasing, selfless and all-giving.... like Mother Mary's love.