Little Gestures of Love That Never Fade
Little Gestures of Love
In Asia, our mothers show little gestures of love that we often misinterpret as fussy, coddling, or controlling.
There are no big hugs or “I love yous.”
Growing up, many of us wondered if our mothers loved us as much as our older sibling or the baby of the family.
But as the years pass, we start to see what love really looked like — hidden in plain sight.
Sometimes, when we miss our mothers, it isn’t the big moments that come to mind.
It’s the quiet ones — the smells, the sounds, the small rituals that shaped who we are.
For me, it’s two red eggs and a bowl of birthday noodles.
A Mother’s Birthday Wish
When I was young, my mother made them every year on my birthday.
All my other friends had buttercream cakes and ice cream.
Me?
I had red eggs that stained my fingers and a belly full of noodles.
Maybe if we weren’t poor, I thought, we could afford to eat cake too.
On the eve of my birthday, I would make a wish and pray hard for that one year when things might be different.
But in the early hours of morning, before sunrise, I would hear her moving quietly through the house.
The creak of the floorboards, the soft clatter of pots.
Then the familiar sound of her stepping into the chicken coop.
I could feel her feeling her way in the dark for fresh eggs.
The hens would protest and squawk loudly, breaking the stillness of dawn.
Soon after came the rhythmic, sharp clack-clack of two cleavers pounding on the chopping board.
She would minced pork by hand.
The pork balls are prepared fresh and that would go into my longevity noodles soup.
At the time, I didn’t see it as love.
I only saw what we lacked — the cake, the candles, the party.
But now, I know better.
Those quiet sounds — the hens squawking, the cleavers chopping — were her way of saying I love you.
Love in Everyday Moments
Every year she rose early, boiled the eggs, and dyed them a deep, festive red.
The noodles simmered slowly, filling the kitchen with warmth.
When she placed the bowl in front of me, she didn’t say much.
Just a quiet smile — a look that meant everything:
May your life be long, peaceful, and full of love.
That’s what mothers do best.
They show care in small, everyday ways.
A warm bowl of soup.
Freshly ironed shirt.
A reminder to bring an umbrella.
My mother running to my car to hand me the phone or flask I had forgotten on the table.
These small, thoughtful acts are the threads that hold our memories together long after they’re gone.
Now the Tradition Feels Different
Now, on my birthday, I want to make the noodles and eggs for her.
I want to give her the same wish she always gave me.
But she would laugh and shake her head, saying,
“Don’t remind them up there about me. Heaven might realize they’ve forgotten, and they’ll take me home.”
She said it half-jokingly, half-seriously — a little superstition wrapped in humor.
And I’d laugh, knowing it was her way of saying she was still here, still watching over us.
Now, when I make those noodles, the eggs never turn quite the same shade of red.
And the broth too salty, too bland, too oily, never tastes quite like hers.
But each time, it feels like she’s there — standing by the stove, smiling quietly.
A Love That Never Leaves
Love doesn’t fade.
It lives in the traditions we keep and the care we show to others.
Sometimes, I imagine her watching from somewhere gentle and peaceful.
I imagine her smiling.
I finally understand what she meant.
No one else would make those noodles, not because they didn’t care.
But because no one could love quite like she did.
When I think of little gestures of love, I think of her hands —
gnarled and wrinkled, shaped by years of work and softened by age.
How she peeled the eggs so carefully, how she made sure the noodles never broke.
Those gestures may seem ordinary, but they carry a lifetime of meaning.
For Anyone Missing Their Mother
If you’re missing your mother today, remember this — love doesn’t always announce itself.
Sometimes it’s in a warm meal, a gentle reminder, or the memory of someone who always looked out for you, even in silence.
Those little gestures of love stay with us.
They remind us that we were loved deeply, even when we didn’t see it then.
And they continue to feed us.
Quietly, long after she’s gone.
In loving memory of every mother who expressed love without saying it out loud.
