Who am I, who are We?

A frail woman places her hand in mine - it is almost weightless. Her skin is translucent and I can see the blue spiderweb of veins, each one tenderly weaving and beautiful, like the rivers of Blue Willow pattern on our family vases. "Tell me a story" She whispers and I oblige.

"Many month from today, many seasons from now You and I will meet again. Our eyes will look different and will see differently, our skin will be light- the color of steamed milk...." "But my heart will always recognize you!" She ensures me, and a silver tear escapes the corner of her eye. Her voice is tender and hushed and almost blends in with the wind chimes, joyfully tinkling in the heavy wooden window frame. "So will mine" I squeeze her hand. She chuckles lightly and it causes her to cough, and even though it's a quiet papery cough I can see how much pain it brings her. "Of course it will, and you will again be my child and once again I will love you with all of my heart!". "What an odd goodbye" I think to myself. Rather, it is an agreement, a promise to meet again. The rain starts, softly tapping on the windowsill. Bamboo dances in the breeze, moving the still afternoon heat around the courtyard. The woman looks at me again. Her almond eyes adorned with the lace of wrinkles. I run my finger over them: "Do you remember telling me, that when you laugh little crows of joy come sit in the corners of your eyes, leaving their foot prints all over? I hadn't laughed for weeks, afraid a crow will land on my face!" She chuckles and taps her beautiful high cheek: " Do YOU remember loving me so much - biting my cheeks was the only way you could express it? Sometimes I can still feel it". I smile sadly and a searing iron poke nudges my heart. Two streams pour out of my eyes, wishing to put out the burning pain of goodbye. "Ai-ya" She wipes my tears with a forceful thumb. "We will meet, I know this! Do you want to be my Māmā next time? We can do that! And I will bite your cheeks and see how You like it!" I snort and a little snot bubble escapes my nose. I climb on the bed next to her, to feel one last time like a little girl. "You stay a child only until your parents are alive." She told me once, when I pouted that she had to leave to visit Grandma. "I am her child and I also need my Māmā". This bittersweet memory remains a hazy cloud in my mind. I remember the succulent fig she gave me, and the elusive smell of perfume on her wrist, I remember a hem of beautiful embroidered dress and.. I remember feeling alone in the red brick courtyard. The gentle tapping of raindrops sounds more like applause now, raindrops become bigger and fall harder. The bamboo sways in a mad dance, resounding excited crowds, gathered in front of the palace to bid the final farewell. Last breath, last squeeze of hand and last smile. Now I am an adult.

She was re-born in the Year of The Dog. When I matured enough to understand the serendipity of our birthdates I smiled: "She IS ever so loyal". Like a dog She fights to defend the small, like a dog She dismisses her wounds to carry the weak to safety and like a dog She comes asking for love with an apologetic look. I arrived to Her in the Year of The Monkey. Born thirty-four years and two days apart, we were reunited once more on a freezing Wednesday morning of early March. And instantly I almost lost Her: In a gross post-Soviet negligent manner She was left with torn uterus to bleed out in the dark and cold hallway of the maternity unit. "What a beautiful morning" She thought to herself. " I just feel... so.. cold". When the nurse brought me to her, the gurney was soaked with her scarlet essence.

Just like a dog She recovered quickly, and just like the monkey I entertained her. She kept me safe and fed, working long days, and giving me her entire heart, and one day She picked me up and I bit her cheek with my toothless gums. We helped each other - One day, walking me, She made a pivoting acquaintance that changed our lives. She radiated inspiration and earned her place in the world. In turn, I was provided with opportunity to learn English and set out on my own journey. She moulded into a talented teacher and entrepreneur, shaping me to be a wordsmith and a linguist. We orbited each other, our fates intertwined, fantasy and reality, past and present. When I pushed out of her orbit She would hurt and anger, when Her gravity pulled me back I angered and hurt. Just like the ruling element for Pisces we both were fluid and unstoppable, sometimes a trickle, sometimes - a flood and just like and old dog and a monkey, tired of playing tricks, we had found our peace and mud had settled in the water. And once again, we find ourselves watching the rain from under the canopy of leaves, hand in hand. I tell her that I don't know what I will do without her and so She tells me a story: "One day, when you least expect it, I will fly by and knock on you window. And if you let me in- I will become your baby... Then I'll show you what's what!" She adds unexpectedly and I chuckle as she wipes my tears with a forceful thumb.

My Māmā inspires me. My Māmā made me into who I am. I write to tell about different times and different places, about different, yet same people and about everything that everyone one of us is. Because in the end- aren't we all the same- just the reflections of reflections, endless amalgam of future, past and present. I write because I want to tell the stories carried with me from past lives, stories about beyond and reminders about the immediate. My true passion is to write, to weave the strands of lives into braids of stories. I make them and they make me; And I know that my heart is pierced with millions of sun rays when I am allowed to do what I love the most- weave a tale, like I did many months back, and many seasons ago.