What’s the scariest thing our columnist has had to do? Meeting her best friends’ daughters.

For some strange reason, just because I’m a writer, people get the idea that I’m this ultra-modern woman without a single maternal bone in her body.

It’s true that I don’t want to become one just because my biological clock is ticking. Or because my parents/relatives/the whole village thinks I should become one before my eggs dry up.

I’m not going to start a debate about whether mothers are born or made, or whether all women are natural mothers.

But I do believe that kids are not about trying. They are not cuddly toys or cute pets that are adorable to look at. They are a responsibility and an entrustment that should not be abused.

The truth is, I kept the notion of motherhood on the backburner because I could never connect with children. This, despite earnest efforts from my best friend to create a bond with her daughter.

Every time we met, Siew Chyi would make up activities for us to do together.

I fully understood her good intentions. As we’re best friend, she naturally wants me to be friends with her daughter. So did I. But there was just no chemistry between me and Jean Suen. It broke my heart, seeing Siew Chyi’s touchingly valiant efforts and my failure to deliver.

It occurred to me briefly: was it because Jean was like me too when I was her age?

I gave the impression of a serious child who appeared aloof to other people. Which was the furthest from the truth.

In reality, I craved love and affection as much as anyone else, and my “aloofness” stemmed from fears that my tentative efforts at reaching out would be met with rejection or indifference.

Despite knowing this, I have had little luck with Jean or my other friends’ children. I began to wonder if there was something fundamentally wrong with me.

Given my not-too-encouraging experience, I was terrified when Angelyn invited me to spend one whole day with her daughter and her.

It had been three years since Amelyn’s birth. I had steadfastly resisted her invitations to go out because of my long-standing fear. I couldn’t last 15 minutes with a child – how on earth was I going to survive one DAY?

I was tense as a spring. Interaction was stilting. The outing confirmed my worst fears – I was simply not destined to connect with children. But the memory of Amelyn was powerful and lasting. For Amelyn was truly an Angel, with long curly hair and big beautiful eyes, just like her mother.

The next time I went to Penang again, Angelyn invited me to have lunch at her house.

Darn, the woman is persistent. There was no way I could turn down her offer. Hey, she was cooking for me. Resigned to facing the music, I tried to think of ways to make the encounter less painful.

What would kids like? Gifts. Presents.

I looked around my room and saw a stuffed armadillo that I’d always liked, despite not being a fan of soft toys. At the last minute, I grabbed another pair of pink daisy earrings and a hairpin. Maybe the gifts made the difference. Her eyes certainly lit up when I gave her the pair of pink daisy earrings and another floral hair pin.

Or maybe it was because Amy was older now, I could engage in a proper conversation with her. She was certainly one smart kid, using “adult” concepts like “fascinating” and other multi-syllable words that did not enter my vocabulary until I was 10.

She had an infectious sunny disposition and an easy laugh. We chatted non-stop, so much so that my amused friend wisecracked, “Ok the next time the two of you can go for a date all by yourselves.”

I, actually, briefly, considered the idea. Astonishing.

When I went back to Penang again in March, Angelyn asked me to go out again – and this time, I had no hesitation. I asked, “Do you remember who I am?” (Just checking: Amy is seven now).

“Of course, you are Aunty Alex.” Her next words took me by surprise. “Do you remember the toy you gave me when I saw you two years ago?”

She remembered? I nodded. “Where is it now?”

“I kept it in my house in a cupboard.”

Awwwww. That simple declaration stirred up an ocean of emotion.

We spent a wonderful Saturday eating cakes, drinking coffee and posing with the funny-looking horse statues behind Lighthouse Coffee. In those short six hours, I thought I experienced how being a mother could be heart-breaking but also rewarding.

My heart flipped over with joy when her face lit up as we entered the cake shop. My heart skipped a beat when she tucked her small hand into mine while crossing the road. The other one was in her mama’s hand.

On the drive back, I asked a question that I’d never thought I’d ask. I turned to Angelyn and asked, “Can I be her godma?”

Her daughter gave me the seal of approval. For the rest of the outing, she alternated between calling me Auntie Alex and Godma Alex. I told her, you’re the only person I approve of calling me Auntie Alex.

All too soon, it was time for Angelyn to drop me at my house as I had another date.

“Auntie Alex?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Wait before you go, I want to tell you a story ...”

To my perplexity, Amelyn launched into one anecdote after another, all of them unrelated. I looked at her mum in bewilderment. There was a gentle smile in her eyes. Suddenly I understood. Amelyn didn’t want me to go.

As I write this, I’m glancing at my smartphone occasionally, because a goofy photo of me and my goddaughter hamming it up is on my wallpaper.

P.S. My story was going to end right there. But guess what? Life had other plans.

A few days after I appointed myself Godma, I met up with my other best friend in Penang. Chyi brought along her daughter as usual.

I was in a relaxed mood and I didn’t go out of my way to please or amuse Jean Suen, but treated her with the same casual humour I treat her mother. Suddenly, she pulled at her mother’s sleeve and whispered into her ear.

Chyi looked surprised. “She wants to play monopoly with you.”

I was equally surprised at this overture. Anyway, I teased her, poked fun at her, and bantered.

When our outing ended, I said, “Now give me a goodbye hug.”

She threw her arms around me and gave me a big, warm, bear hug.

> Alexandra Wong (www.bunnysprints.com) can’t believe that the impossible has happened: she’s finally made a connection with a child.

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