Definitions

It’s funny how your image changes as you go through different stages in life. If I were a word, it’s like having my definition changed according to the context to which I am used.

When I was a student, it was all about being an achiever. I was recognised on campus either as the performer, the honour student, or the student politician.

When I was working in Tokyo, it was all about being a multi-tasker. I was the teacher-slash-school manager-slash-newscaster-slash-writer. At church, I was recognised as the one singing in the choir, the one who choreographed dances, the one with the big smile.

Now, I am mostly her mother. I am recognised as the one with the petite baby, the one with the Zapp pushchair and the cow-print buggy snuggle. The one who has the smallest diaper bag. And more recently, the one who takes the baby photographs.

I am well aware that I am, of course, so much more than that. But to other mothers, I am defined as just another mum. I reciprocate this as well. Whenever I meet other mothers, I remember the mum’s name by remembering the baby’s name. “We’re meeting at Jane’s. You know, Jane–the one with the blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy, Jack.”

Of course, Jane.

Some people may think it’s sad–that I am defined not for who I am, but for what I am to her. But I don’t see anything sad about that. This is who I am at the moment, to the people I am constantly with. And besides, I know who I really am and I don’t see the need to assert the other sides of me.

To be honest, being known as the mum of a very pretty girl is not a bad thing at all. If anything, I am quite proud of it.