You don’t remember anything, ma.

I remember all the times you said ‘No’ to me, ma.

Remember when you didn’t allow me to go with my friends during that 5^th grade tour to another city?

Remember when you didn’t take me to Pizza Hut when I didn’t want home food?

Remember when you didn’t buy that toy in ToyStore for me I wanted so badly, I threw a tantrum?

Remember when you didn’t let me play in the rain when all the other kids were playing; the first and only time it rained heavily that year in Saudi Arabia?

Remember when you delayed my flight; so I could stay home longer but I nagged about missing my classes?

I remember all those times, ma.

 

That school bus I was supposed to get into, got into an accident due to the rain.

That pizza wasn’t good for my viral fever.

You knew I’d break the toy the very next day so it wasn’t worth it.

You knew I was allergic to rain and when I fell sick thru it, it’d take me ages to recover.

That flight had a crash landing with half its passengers injured and the rest lost their luggage’s, and you never knew because my ego didn’t let me tell you.

 

But you don’t remember anything, ma.

You don’t remember the first time I refused to massage your arms, when you humbly asked me to.

You don’t remember the times I lost my patience because you were slow in walking while shopping.

You don’t remember the times I screamed at you that I didn’t like the food.

You don’t remember my tantrums, my cries, my nags and my complaints.

You don’t remember anything, ma.

You don’t.