Protecting the integrity of innocence

Ok. Ok. I surrender. I have been pushing back writing this post and what happens is I keep getting fired salvo after salvo until I am left with absolutely no choice other than to throw my hands up, abandon my original intention to fix myself a late lunch, and yield to the clarion instruction in my heart to sit down and share a little of this sweetness.

The thing is – as One Direction sing (hey I’m a complete agnostic when it comes to sources of inspiration ๐Ÿ˜†):

“You don’t know you’re beautiful…

That’s what makes you beautiful.”

I bring Seraphine – all 3 of my children – up like that.

I am not one for vanity or self-consciousness in young children. Already they get it forced upon them by a world that would have them grow up too fast, too soon.

I view part of my motherly charge as protecting the sacredness of that natural instinctive wholeness and innocence, as long as I can through these early formative years at least, until the dawning rays of self-acceptance, self-love, self-respect and THEN therefore a completely organic, self-grounded, clear-eyed, non-externally-contingent self-possession and self-confidence can radiate naturally out. Built on true inner rock, not the shifting sands of external opinion.

So, the thing is – when I write about “salvo after salvo”, I write about a girl whom has been resoundingly taught *not* to pander to opinion, not to think that she can get away with ANYTHING because she’s cute (her luck for drawing me in the divine lottery as her mum ๐Ÿ˜ฌ), not to emotionally manipulate, not to ่ฎจไบบๅ–œๆฌข in Mandarin – “to be likeable, to attract people’s affection”. Not on purpose.

What kills me, therefore, and keeps killing me, is that whatever that naturally emerges from her – things like this note, which I just found waiting for me on the dining table right now, with the heart chocolate that she gave to me two nights ago, which she noticed yesterday I didn’t eat, which she berated me for not eating, which therefore she has deliberately stuck into an envelope and left it on the table to eliminate any further possibility whatsoever that mama would continue to be remiss in her duty to *consume this love offering*; like the other note she brought to me three mornings ago, with a cover note attached to the actual envelope itself containing the “real note” (“Mama, this is just the cover ok? This one with the hearts is the REAL letter.” Ok, Fin Fin. Whatever you say. ๐Ÿ’“) –

These spontaneous and plentiful expressions from her heart to mine come purely – and I mean that literally, “purely” – without artifice, without machination.

They come my way just because she feels this way for me. And the most normal thing in the world for her is to show me how she feels.

Can you now understand why this girl – these children – quietly knock my socks off, every day? Tak boleh tahan. ๐Ÿ’—

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