Untitled
There was this blog I read about a story of a young mother. She gave birth to a little boy at the age of 19 which was clearly a result of demoniacal acts done to her. With all other better things to do in a situation where there is no possible good thing to exist, she decided to keep and raise the child. She was robbed of her teenage years—one of the crucial parts of understanding the fundamental sense of self before coming to adulthood—and was forced to keep abreast with motherhood.
Her child speaks good of her, that she was a loving and caring mother. And the kid knew that the comfort he enjoys are the fruit of working several jobs, skipping meals, and sacrifices his mother had to endure. Then when he graduated college, had a degree, and fulfilled the promise to his mother, she ended it all. Left a note that said her life however piteous and tragic, he made it radiant and painless.
This true story appeal to me as a bewildering thought—the act of selflessness that I cannot fully catch. It is as though a mother bird seeing hatchling take a flight and flap their wings then soar through an abyss where it meets the nothingness. Like having a short-lived life to submit to an unwanted duty but at the same gave the fullest without anticipating for reciprocity. And this quality of a feminine being is something that falls in the otherness of the ethics of alterity. The continual drive to care and prioritize others, not to be present for oneself, and fully surrender in the idea of becoming a being for others. And I reckon, that she may have perceived the path of self as a starting point to understand her son but rather ultimately recognized her own beingness, which associated a cost—her demise.
Recognizing the face of otherness is acknowledging that there are beings existing separately from us. And these separate beings, when you hear their grins, feel the tightness of their hugs, and see their innocent faces permits a sensation and awareness. The feeling of sentiment invites us to act compassionately. It is a rather learned practice since humans are inherently individual agents. To think that it is an independent choice resonates a heavy feeling of desolation.