The Cycle of Love: A Mother’s Unconditional Love

Upon her arrival in Hong Kong, she carried a suitcase, towering half the height of a person. It was brimming to the point of such weightiness that it eluded my ability to lift. With the exception of a small bag containing her daily necessities, all else was bestowed upon me, including my beloved gastronomic delights.

“Why have you transported these belongings?” I inquired, my gaze fixed upon the desiccated tofu and snacks, my concern palpable. “Does Hong Kong lack such provisions? Have you grown weary from bearing this load throughout the arduous journey?” Peering into my countenance, she deposited the snacks, which I had abstained from indulging in for the sake of weight loss, into my bag. “What ails you? Are these not your preferred comestibles?”

“Hey, hey, restrain yourself. Moderation suffices,” I observed with distress, as the newly acquired leather bag, procured a month prior, bulged and swelled. Yet, I could not bear to interrupt her.

Now, she was departing, clutching the ticket and traversing toward the security gate. I beheld her figure from behind, seemingly diminished compared to my recollection. The garments I had procured half a decade ago for the Chinese New Year hung somewhat loosely upon her frame. Refusing to acquire any mementos or keepsakes, she deemed it an extravagance. The near-empty suitcase trailed behind her, its wheels emitting a sonorous “click” as they scraped against the ground.

Midway through, she abruptly turned and bid me farewell with a wave.

“What troubles you?” I inquired.

“Nothing, I simply recollected that when I escorted you abroad for your studies, I stood where you stand now, and you were propelling the case forward. Now, our roles have reversed,” she imparted with a smile.

I, too, chuckled.

“Very well, I shall take my leave. Exercise caution upon your return,” she waved to me once more.

“Indeed, journey safely,” I responded.

She pivoted and proceeded on her way. This time, she ventured directly through the security gate, swiftly blending into the throng, out of sight.

Though a smile adorned my visage, an unexpected surge of tears cascaded down.

Much like my initial departure, she had seen me off, unbeknownst to me.

As I grow older, I gradually comprehend that sentiments in this world, along with many destinies, engender a form of transmigration.

She fostered my growth with tenderness and affection, while I accompanied her on the path toward aging, offering solace and assistance. We bore witness to one another, parting and reuniting, repeating these cycles ceaselessly; that which she had done for me, I now reciprocated for her.

The essence of such a transmigration lies in the certitude that regardless of how far my physical and mental faculties may wander, there exists a place in this world where she stands, her countenance beaming at me.

Until I became a parent myself, I passed on to my offspring the love she had once bestowed upon me, standing in the very spot she once occupied, observing their maturation.

By that juncture, I shall grasp her essence entirely.

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