I was born 31 years ago in the city of Kuala Lumpur. Being the only child, my parents had given me undivided love and attention through out my living under their roof. Father, whom I lovingly called Abah, was a certified public accountant in an international accounting firm. My mother, or fondly to me as Ibu, was a secretary in a petroleum company. As soon as Abah was made a partner of the firm, Ibu gave up her 10 yearlong desk job to care for the family.

Ibu was a doting mother and a loving wife. She drove me to and from school daily and would sit with me in the afternoons stitching embroidery while I finished my school assignments. She was a beautiful woman with an obscure passion for the sweet fragrant white flower, popularly known as Jasmine. Ibu loved gardening. Almost every evening, I would follow her around the garden in our double-storey semi-detached house in Kampung Tunku, trotting with a favourite doll in hand, while she attended to her garden tasks of nurturing and cultivating Jasmine. Jasmine shrubs of about 6 feet in height hedged the house compound. The Jasmine flower releases their fragrance at night after the sun has set and especially when the moon is waxing towards fullness. Every Tuesday and Thursday evenings, Ibu would take a handful of Jasmine buds, for its buds are more fragrant than the flowers, and filled a small wooden bowl, a valuable family heirloom. Nia, our housekeeper, would then take these heavenly sweet scented flowers into the family room. Ibu would come around later with more Jasmine for her bath water. Once I asked Ibu why she was so fond of Jasmine. Ibu smiled as she ran her long dainty fingers through my dark brown locks, and asked, “Don’t you like them?”

Honestly, I did not like the smell of Jasmine. Its fragrance used to give me the creeps. Well, even to this day, sometimes. Over the years though, I grew accustomed to the smell. Now, after 14 years since Ibu passed on, I hate to admit that I do miss Jasmine.

Ibu died of breast cancer. She was 42. Abah tended to himself and Ibu’s garden of Jasmine. The year was 1990. I had just completed my secondary education and was waiting for admission to a local college. Nia, our faithful housekeeper, took over Ibu’s job in preparing the family meals.

Abah went through the years without Ibu as persevered as he could. He was determined to see me through my last years of education. My childhood dream was to become an architect. I had once told Abah that I would build a big mansion for him and Ibu when I grew up. He beamed with excitement hearing my enthusiasm. Just before I left Abah for the States to pursue my dreams, he said, “I’ll be here waiting for that big mansion you promised, Angel!” With teary eyes and a heavy heart, I wished Ibu had been there to witness and enjoy it when it happens. “She’ll be there, Angel. She’ll be there.”