That time my mum passed me the heirloom

Before you make any assumptions, the heirloom is not a fancy engagement ring or a solitaire or a piece of antique furniture, but her favourite book.

Not a lot of people can claim their mother being cooler than themselves, I am one of those rare kids. Mommy is the one who introduced me to F.R.I.E.N.D.S. We watched the show together over lunch when I came back from school. Don’t question her parenting though, she did turn the TV off when the episode had some adult themes. Mommy is the one who got me listening to English music. Among the very many absolutely useless things carefully stored at home, there’s the complete collection of Michael Jackson albums on cassette. And, mommy is the one who made me fall in love with reading. For as long as I can remember, I’ve seen mum relaxing over a book and tea – specifically one author – Sidney Sheldon.

“Maybe when you’re older” – the response I received as a sixteen year old wanting to read what was so spectacular about these books that mum kept revisiting them over and over.

Years later, one of these days, mummy and I were chatting about how, for her, no other book could ever measure up to those by Sidney Sheldon. “I’m definitely older now”; she picked out The Rage of Angels, handed it to me while clarifying that she’s only lending it to me and that it doesn’t belong to me. “They will be yours one day, not today, bring it back to me when you’re done”.

And that is how the next book in my reading list is one that’s older than me, belongs to my mum since before she met my father and is probably the only book my father has ever read (could be to impress mommy, we’ll never know).

Their names may not be spake aloud lest they profane mortal lips; for they came out of unholy darknesses and attacked the heavens; but they were driven away by the rage of angels.