“But that is what they hide from you: that there was never any satisfaction in it for me. For my son was lost not just to me, but to all the world, and by my own tongue. I could never say: At least he is happy. At least he is well, even if he has forgotten us. I could not console myself that I had loved a thing enough to let it go. I was the most cursed of all, in the end, my heart condemned to endure everything that stone hearts cannot feel. Trapped in that cruel day, forced to relive the worst moments of my life for all eternity, I yearned uselessly for my mind to leave me, for my body to be turned to stone, to be relieved of thought and memory and feeling. But God does not hear a mother’s prayers, it seems; only her curses.
The waves rise and fall to this day; the birds circle over the blue water until, exhausted, they settle on the stone mast, the stone prow, the stone faces and stone shoulders, to rest their aching wings.”
— Daphne Lee, Malaysian Tales: Retold & Remixed