From the moment I could remember, there was one thing about my life that made me burn with anger—my mother only had one eye.
As a child, it felt like a curse. I would hide my face in embarrassment whenever she came near my school or when she waved to me in public. The mere sight of her face sent shivers of shame down my spine. Every time I looked into her one eye, I couldn’t help but wonder, why me? Why did my mother have to be so different?
The First Time I Felt Shame
It was a humid afternoon in primary school. I had always been a quiet child, lost in my books, content to be unnoticed. But on that day, I was far from unnoticed. My mother had come to see me at school—completely unannounced. She was dressed in her old, worn-out clothes, and there was that unmistakable, glaring reminder: her one eye.
I saw her before she saw me, waving at me from across the schoolyard. My heart sank, and my stomach turned. I froze. Kids around me began to whisper, and I knew they had noticed her too.
“Is that your mom?” one of my classmates asked, his face scrunched up in disgust.
“Why does she look like that?”
I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. I wished I could disappear, or even better, that she would disappear. Instead of going to her, I ran. I ran faster than I ever had before, leaving her standing there, bewildered, her hand still in mid-wave.
When I got home that day, I confronted her. The anger and shame from the day had built up, and I couldn’t contain it any longer.
“Why did you come to my school?!” I screamed. “You embarrassed me! Everyone was laughing at me because of you! Why don’t you just stay away from me? Why can’t you just… just die!”
My words hung in the air like poison. She didn’t respond. She just looked at me with that one, sorrowful eye, the eye that had seen so much pain. And yet, I didn’t care. My rage blinded me to her hurt.
Without a word, she turned away and quietly walked back to her small room in our rundown house.
Aiming for Escape
After that day, I threw myself into my studies. The house felt suffocating. I wanted nothing more than to leave and never return. I worked hard, determined to escape the life I had been born into—the life she had given me.
Years passed, and my efforts paid off. I earned a scholarship and was accepted into a university in Singapore. When the letter of acceptance came, I barely glanced at my mother. Her presence in the room was just a reminder of everything I wanted to leave behind.
“I’m going to Singapore,” I told her coldly, not even waiting for a response. Her eyes—her one eye—welled up with tears, but she said nothing. Not a single word.
I left home without looking back.
A New Life, Free From the Past
Life in Singapore was everything I had dreamed of and more. I excelled in my studies, met new friends, and eventually landed a high-paying job. I married a beautiful woman and built a life for myself far removed from the shack where I had grown up. We had two children, and they became the center of my world.
I never told my wife about my mother, and I certainly never brought my children to meet her. In my mind, she was a part of a life I had buried—a life I didn’t want my family to know about.
Then one day, out of the blue, my past came knocking at my door. Literally.
The Unwanted Visitor
It was a Saturday afternoon, and I was relaxing with my family when the doorbell rang. My wife answered it, and I could hear the muffled sounds of conversation from the living room. Then, the next thing I knew, my children were laughing.
Curious and slightly annoyed, I walked to the door—and there she was. My mother. She stood there, her clothes even more tattered than I remembered, and that familiar one-eyed gaze was looking up at me.
My heart sank, not out of guilt or love, but out of embarrassment.
“What are you doing here?” I snapped, my voice louder than I intended.
Her lips quivered, and she looked down at her feet. “I… I’m sorry,” she stammered, “I thought I’d come visit. I wanted to see you, and the children…”
My children stood behind me, giggling. They didn’t understand the weight of the moment, the humiliation that was coursing through my veins.
“How dare you come here and scare my kids like this?” I shouted, unable to control myself. “Just go away! You have the wrong address!”
She flinched at my words. Her face fell, and she stepped back, mumbling, “Oh, I’m sorry. I must have the wrong house.”
And just like that, she turned and walked away. I didn’t watch her leave. I slammed the door and fumed in silence, pacing back and forth as my wife and children looked at me in shock.
That was the last time I saw her.
The Shack
Years passed, and life continued. My family grew, and my career flourished. I had everything I had ever wanted. But one day, a letter arrived in the mail—an invitation to a school reunion back in my hometown.
I hadn’t been back there since I left, and I wasn’t particularly eager to return. But out of curiosity, I decided to go. I told my wife it was for business and made the journey back to the small town I had once called home.
After the reunion, I wandered through the familiar streets, filled with memories I had long tried to suppress. My feet took me to the old shack where I had grown up. It looked even worse than I remembered—dilapidated, overgrown with weeds, and barely standing.
I knocked on the door, but no one answered. A neighbor came out and approached me.
“Your mother… she passed away some time ago,” the neighbor said softly, as if sensing the weight of the news.
I felt nothing. Not a single tear. Not even a twinge of sadness.
The neighbor handed me a letter. “She wanted you to have this,” she said, before retreating into her own home.
I stood there, staring at the letter in my hands, feeling strangely disconnected. I opened it, and my mother’s familiar, shaky handwriting filled the page.
The Letter
To my dearest son,
I think of you all the time. I’m sorry that I came to Singapore and scared your children. I was just so happy to see you, to see the life you built.
I’m sorry that I was an embarrassment to you when you were growing up. I never wanted to make things difficult for you.
You see, when you were very little, you had an accident. You lost your eye. As a mother, I couldn’t bear to see my son live his life with only one eye, so I gave you mine.
I was so proud of you, watching you grow into the man you’ve become. Even though I could only see half the world, it was enough because I could see it through your eyes.
Please forgive me for everything.
With all my love,
Your mother
