“They say it takes a village to raise a child. My mother just said, ‘Hold my tea.’”
— Rose, storyteller of BheyondDiaries
Hey buddies!
I’m back again with a fresh story from the pages of my colorful childhood. This one’s packed with music, dancing, sacrifice, and one incredibly strong woman — my mother. Get ready for a memory that will make you smile, laugh, and maybe even admire your mom a little more.
Let’s go back a few years.
When we lived in our village, my mother was determined that my brother and I shouldn’t miss out on opportunities. So she signed me up for singing and dancing classes at a young age. At that point, I was still trying to figure out which shoe went on which foot — and suddenly, I was juggling melodies and dance moves!
When we moved to a new city, my mom didn’t skip a beat. She enrolled me once again in singing and dancing. While other kids were only juggling school and tuition, there I was — twirling in dance class and hitting the wrong notes in singing practice.
Here’s the truth though:
I loved dancing.
Every time the music played, I poured my heart into it. My arms moved, my feet followed, and even my hair added its own flair. I felt alive and free.
But singing?
Let’s just say I hit all the wrong notes… with full confidence. I wasn’t exactly the next pop star. But my mom kept encouraging (or rather, gently pushing) me to stick with it. Eventually, I learned to appreciate singing, too — and now, I actually enjoy both. Funny how life works, right?
Still, after a few years, I had to make a choice. And I chose to step away from both.
I told my mom, “I don’t want to continue singing or dancing anymore.”
There was a long pause.
I braced for a lecture or a guilt trip. But instead, she said:
“Okay. But promise me you’ll find something you love and give your heart to it.”
And that’s when I realized:
She wasn’t forcing me to be someone I wasn’t. She was just trying to give me every possible chance to become someone I could be.
Now here’s what made her even more incredible — she was doing all this alone most of the time.
Why?
Because my father is an Army officer. While he was away serving the country, my mother was holding our little world together.
She was the cook, the cleaner, the teacher, the nurse, the counselor, and the family manager — all rolled into one. She handled household chores, took care of our studies, managed bills, kept us fed, clean, and happy. And still had time to remind us to drink water and cut our nails.
If multitasking had a world championship, she’d take home all the medals and still fold the laundry before bedtime.
As a kid, I thought moms were just built this way. But now that I’m older, I see how much strength it took. She was doing the job of two people — without ever showing how tired she really was.
She let us play. She let us make mistakes. She didn’t hover. She let us live.
But that doesn’t mean she wasn’t strong-willed. Oh, she was fierce.
Once, when I asked her why she always had to control things, she said,
“Because I made you, and the instruction manual is in my brain.”
Mic. Drop.
There were times I thought she was too strict. Other times, I felt she was too soft. And sometimes, I thought she just didn’t get it. But now I realize — she understood more than I could ever know. She was raising us with love, structure, and just the right amount of freedom.
I’ve always admired her strength, but I also secretly admire her parenting style. I hope one day, if I become a parent, I can balance life the way she did. She was independent, hardworking, and graceful — yet always had time for us.
Yes, I want to be strong like her.
But I also want a partner — someone I can depend on, someone who’s always there, someone who wakes up next to me every morning. I know God has a good plan for me, and I really hope that part’s included.
Sometimes life puts you in uncomfortable shoes — like singing when you’re clearly more of a dancer. But if you stick with it, you may just grow to enjoy it. You may even surprise yourself.
And sometimes, you’ll have to walk away from things. You’ll make choices that don’t make sense to others, but they will to you — and to the people who truly love you.
My mother taught me that you don’t have to be perfect — you just have to be present. You have to care. You have to show up, even when you’re tired. You have to keep the rhythm going, even when the music gets loud, soft, or completely silent.
So here’s to the moms who danced through our chaos, sang through their exhaustion, and never let us feel their worry. And here’s to the dads who protected borders so our homes could stay safe.
Until the next memory,
With love, laughter, and a little foot-tapping,
Rose 🌸