A Daughter’s Heartfelt Tribute: Unconditional Love, Enduring Sacrifice, and a Homemade Fig Jam Dedication

As someone who isn’t a mother, my understanding of a mother’s profound love is shaped entirely by my experience as a daughter. It’s a perspective forged in observation, gratitude, and the countless small acts of devotion that have defined my life, showcasing a unique bond that truly transcends words.

I am my mother’s daughter, her first-born child, to be precise, arriving into the world before my dear sister and brother. My personal journey, and subsequently my mother’s journey into the boundless realm of motherhood, began with a moment of both intense vulnerability and immense strength, a narrative that speaks volumes about her character.

During her ninth month of pregnancy with me, my mum experienced gestational hypertension, a condition involving pregnancy-related high blood pressure that necessitated careful medical attention. Her gynecologist, prioritizing both her safety and mine, strongly advised a cesarean birth instead of a natural one, to prevent any further elevation of her blood pressure, which could have posed significant risks to both of us. The decision, though medically sound and necessary, introduced an element of the unknown and naturally, a great deal of apprehension for my mother.

A date for the operation was swiftly scheduled, marking a pivotal moment in our family’s story. On the 27th day of the eleventh month of 1985, a day etched into our family history, the nurses dressed my mum in a sterile hospital gown, preparing her for the life-changing event. She was then gently wheeled into the bright, unfamiliar environment of the operating theater, her heart undoubtedly a tumultuous mix of apprehension, hopeful prayer, and eager anticipation for the child she was about to meet.

My mum was understandably very nervous. This wasn’t just her first time in labor; it was likely the first time she had faced such an invasive medical procedure, the prospect of being “cut open” for the very first time. The gravity of the situation, coupled with the inherent anxieties of childbirth and the overwhelming responsibility of bringing a new life into the world, created a powerful and deeply emotional moment for her.

In the short while that she was conscious, before the full effects of the anesthesia took hold, a profound and desperate prayer escaped her lips. She prayed fervently to a God she wasn’t even sure existed, a testament to the primal hope, unconditional love, and raw fear that motherhood can awaken within a person. Her prayer, whispered from a place of deep longing and profound uncertainty, went something like this: “God, if you ensure that my baby is delivered safely, I’ll believe in you.” It was a bargain born of pure, unadulterated motherly love and desperate hope, a promise made in the face of the unknown for the sake of her child’s safe arrival.

Thankfully, the cesarean section was a resounding success, a true answer to her heartfelt plea. I arrived two weeks premature, a tiny bundle weighing a mere two kilograms – roughly the size of a small rabbit, as my mother often recalls with a tender smile, emphasizing my delicate start. Despite my small stature, I was robust and healthy, a testament to the care received.

The doctors, with practiced and reassuring hands, held me upside down and gave a gentle whack to my buttocks, prompting my first, all-important intake of breath. My first act in this world was a healthy, vigorous scream, announcing my arrival with conviction and confirming my good health to everyone present in the operating room. As my mum, still recovering from the surgery and filled with a mixture of awe and relief, cradled the tiny me in her arms, a sense of overwhelming, immediate love washed over her. She was caressing this unfamiliar, yet instantly cherished creature, a being she had already come to love unconditionally even before our first meeting. In that sacred moment, a relieved “thank you” softly escaped her lips, directed to the God she now, without a doubt, believed was real. This pivotal moment solidified not just her newfound faith, but also marked the beautiful, profound beginning of an unbreakable mother-daughter bond.

My mum has dedicated her entire professional life to working diligently as an accountant. However, upon my birth, she made a significant and selfless decision that speaks volumes about her priorities: she took two years off work. This sabbatical was not a mere break from her career; it was a deliberate, unwavering commitment to dedicate her full time, energy, and boundless love to this newborn infant who would suddenly, and completely, demand so much of her attention, nurturing, and care. It was a true act of sacrifice for her first child.

Those early years were filled with precious moments and cherished memories that I’ve heard recounted countless times, painting a vivid picture of her devotion. She would carry me to the tranquil parks in Tampines, gently pushing my pram, her gaze following mine as we watched the world together, exploring and learning side-by-side. She’d chase after butterflies, their vibrant wings fluttering around us, creating magical moments of childhood wonder and joy. She would sing me soft lullabies in a gentle, melodious voice, her melodies filling our home with warmth and security, and tenderly kiss my cheeks, her heart undoubtedly swollen with a mixture of pride, profound love, and the boundless joy that only a new mother truly understands. These were the foundational years, where her constant presence was my entire world, shaping my earliest sense of security, belonging, and unconditional love.

Later, as I grew a little older and my younger siblings, Valerie and Ronald, joined our bustling family, my mother’s unwavering dedication continued to shine brightly, even with the added responsibilities of a growing household. Even with a demanding full-time accountancy job, her commitment to our well-being and happiness was always palpable and non-negotiable.

She would consistently call home from work, often during her lunch breaks or brief moments of respite, to inquire about our day at school, making sure we felt connected, valued, and that our experiences mattered to her. She made it an absolute point to leave her office on the dot, sometimes even rushing through traffic, so she could be home in time to spend those precious few hours with us before bedtime. Thinking back now, as a working adult myself, I realize just how immensely exhausting this must have been: working 10 hours in the office, navigating the daily grind and corporate pressures, only to return home to play games, supervise homework, and manage the energetic, often boisterous demands of three hyperactive kids. Yet, what stands out most vividly in my memory is her incredible patience and boundless energy. I don’t recall my mum ever losing her temper or showing frustration when we, as children, constantly sought her attention, validation, and love. From my current perspective, her composure, boundless patience, and unwavering cheerfulness inspire genuine awe and deep admiration. On occasional weekends, she would transform our kitchen into a haven of sweet aromas, baking us a fragrant loaf of butter pound cake or her crazy delicious, rich brownies. These weren’t just treats; they were tangible expressions of her love and care, culminating in spirited, joyful fights over the last delectable piece, moments we all fondly remember.

As I’ve shared before in various anecdotes, my mum has always tried her utmost to be there for us, providing constant support despite the rigorous demands of her full-time accountancy job. Her love wasn’t often expressed in grand declarations or eloquent speeches, but rather in a myriad of tiny, consistent, and deeply meaningful actions that spoke volumes.

She is truly the sort of person who demonstrates her affection through her deeds rather than with an abundance of spoken words. For as long as I can remember, she has been a steadfast pillar of reliability and integrity; she has never promised to do anything she wouldn’t follow through on, instilling in us a deep sense of trust. This consistency, this constant, reassuring presence, was something I admittedly sometimes took for granted. Because she was always there, a steady, immovable anchor in our lives, her unwavering support felt like a natural, unchanging element of our existence, like the sun rising each day. However, even in my youth, I was definitely aware of this profound consistency, and it instilled in me a deep sense of security, trust, and belonging that has profoundly shaped my understanding of love, commitment, and what it means to truly care for others. It wasn’t flashy or ostentatious, but it was fundamental, a quiet strength that underpinned our entire family structure and continues to do so.

I believe a mother’s love is perhaps most intensely tested, and most profoundly revealed, when her child eventually leaves home for good, embarking on their own independent life. This milestone, while a natural and necessary part of growing up, is undoubtedly a wrenching and deeply emotional moment for any parent, a true test of unconditional love.

In my case, I am pretty sure that when I announced my intention to move across continents, to forge a new life in faraway Argentina, my mother’s heart must have shattered into a thousand unspoken pieces. The thought of her first-born moving so far away, to a different time zone, a completely unfamiliar culture, and a new life entirely, must have been agonizing beyond measure. Yet, despite her silent tears at the airport, which she bravely tried to hide from me, and the unmistakable, profound sadness in her eyes as she watched me board the plane and fly off into the vast sky, my mother never once made me feel guilty about pursuing my dreams. Her love, in that pivotal and challenging moment, proved itself to be remarkably selfless, a testament to her incredible strength and devotion.

Her love is, and always has been, devoid of possessiveness or control; it is pure and liberating. While it was undeniably a difficult and emotionally charged moment for both of us, she willed herself to let me go, prioritizing my happiness and growth over her own natural desire to keep me close and safe. Her way of responding to this profound physical separation was not with words of lament or guilt-tripping, but with a fiercely tight hug that conveyed everything she couldn’t articulate in that moment. And, more importantly, with daily prayers. The same God who, almost three decades prior, had safely brought me into this world, was now ceaselessly beseeched to continue keeping me safe across oceans and continents, through all of life’s challenges. This consistent, spiritual guardianship has been a source of immense comfort, knowing her love transcends distance, time zones, and all physical boundaries.

In our family, we are not typically big verbal communicators when it comes to expressing deep, heartfelt emotions. Long, meandering phone calls filled with sentimental declarations are less common than short, practical WhatsApp text messages, which often serve as our primary mode of staying connected and checking in. And while I sometimes do manage to tell my mum I love her, those infrequent words feel utterly inadequate, insufficient to truly justify the depth and breadth of the boundless love she has so generously bestowed upon us children throughout our lives. It feels like a mere drop in the ocean compared to the vast ocean of her affection, sacrifice, and enduring support.

So, because I find it easier to articulate my heartfelt thoughts and complex emotions through writing than through spoken words, this Mother’s Day, I am dedicating this special, sweet fig jam recipe to my mum. It’s a small, sweet gesture, but one filled with immense love, profound gratitude, and countless unspoken thanks. And through this dedication, I extend my heartfelt appreciation to all other incredible mothers out there who pour their hearts, souls, and unwavering love into their families every single day, shaping futures and enriching lives.

Mummy, thank you from the bottom of my heart for every single thing you’ve ever done for me, and for every sacrifice, big or small, you continue to make. I truly wouldn’t be the person I am today—strong, independent, and loved—without your unconditional love, your unwavering support, and your unfailingly constant prayers every single morning that have guided and protected me. You are, without a doubt, a wonderful mother, an extraordinary woman, and I wouldn’t have had my life any other way. My deepest gratitude and love are forever yours.

I love you! Very, very much! More than words can ever convey.

Easy Homemade Fig Jam: A Sweet Tribute

There’s something incredibly comforting about a homemade jam, especially one crafted with love and fresh ingredients. This easy fig jam recipe is not only simple to make but yields a wonderfully flavorful spread, bursting with natural sweetness, perfect for sharing with those you cherish most. Its subtle sweetness and rich, luscious texture make it a delightful addition to any breakfast table or afternoon tea spread, a truly versatile preserve.

EASY FIG JAM (Makes 1 small jar)
Barely adapted from: Dash of East

Ingredients:

• 2 cups of fresh figs, thoroughly washed, stems removed, and cut into very small, uniform pieces (this helps them break down evenly)
• 1 cup of granulated sugar (for a slightly healthier or less sweet alternative, you can opt to use 1/2 cup of honey instead, adjusting to your preference)
• 1 1/2 cups of water, carefully measured and divided for use at different stages
• Juice and zest extracted from 1 fresh lemon (the lemon brightens the flavor and aids in the jam’s setting process)
• 1 sprig of fresh rosemary (this is an optional addition, used primarily to delicately perfume the jam once it has finished cooking, adding an aromatic, herbaceous note)

Steps:

1. In a medium-sized bowl, gently combine the precisely cut figs with the granulated sugar. Stir them together until well mixed, ensuring each fig piece is coated. Then, let this mixture sit undisturbed at room temperature for a minimum of 1 hour, or ideally longer. This resting period allows the sugar to naturally draw out the delicious juices from the figs, intensifying their flavor and creating a syrupy base.
2. Transfer the fig-sugar mixture into a medium saucepan. Place the saucepan over low heat. Now, carefully mix in 1 cup of water along with the lemon zest and the freshly squeezed lemon juice. Stir gently to combine all the ingredients.
3. Bring the mixture to a gentle simmer, then reduce the heat to maintain a low, consistent bubble. Stir the mixture periodically, every now and then, ensuring it doesn’t stick to the bottom of the pan and cooks evenly. Allow it to simmer gently for approximately 45 minutes, or continue cooking until it achieves your desired jam consistency. A good test is to put a small dollop on a cold plate and chill it for a minute; if it wrinkles when pushed with a spoon, it’s ready.
4. During the cooking process, if you notice the mixture becoming too thick or reducing too quickly to your liking, you can gradually add in 1 tablespoon of water at a time until the desired, spreadable consistency is regained.
5. While the fig mixture is cooking, it’s essential to sterilize your glass jar(s). Immerse the clean jar(s) in boiling water for at least 10 minutes to ensure they are completely sanitized, then carefully remove them with tongs and let them air dry on a clean surface. This crucial step prevents spoilage and ensures the jam keeps longer.
6. Once the jam has reached its perfect consistency and is still hot, remove it from the heat. Carefully spoon the hot jam into the thoroughly sterilized jar. If using, place the sprig of fresh rosemary directly into the jar with the jam, allowing its fragrant essence to infuse subtly. Securely cover the jar immediately with its lid. Allow the jam to cool completely before refrigerating.

*Note: This delicious homemade fig jam can be safely stored in the refrigerator for up to two months, retaining its freshness and flavor. For the absolute best way to enjoy this jam, in my humble opinion, serve it generously on warm, freshly baked scones, topped with a luxurious dollop of fluffy whipped cream. Sooo incredibly good and utterly satisfying, a true delight for the senses!