Lucky Girl and a Clay Pot
My mother took the umbilical cord that once linked us and carefully washed it with her bare hands to ensure I would forever be tied to her. She then wrapped it in a pristine white cloth before placing it gently in a clay pot. She added scissors to ensure my mind remained sharp, a pen and paper so that my thoughts would benefit the world we lived in, and many other items that represented virtues she wanted for her first-born, her daughter. She sealed the clay pot tightly. Unlike the usual Javanese tradition, she did not bury the pot near our home to ensure that I stayed close. Instead, she paddled out to the ocean, the very same waters my father’s ashes were thrown in, and dropped the clay pot in the water. She waited, and every time it would come back, she’d paddle back out and place it even further. She did this multiple times before it eventually disappeared.
When asked why she didn’t do it the usual way, she said, “because I wanted you to see the world, I wanted you to do the things I dreamed of.”
Western folks would probably scoff at the idea that this would work, that this animistic nonsense has no logic or scientific proof that it could ever work. But all I have to do is see the glimmer in her eyes when I tell her my travel stories, the subtle excitement in her voice when I tell her the opportunities I have been blessed with abroad—see the deep sadness gently expressed by her furrowed eyebrows when I cry to her and question myself and believe that I have accomplished nothing, to know that it worked. That her deep belief in her dreams and the things she hoped for me caused miracles.
Mama leads her life with blind trust; this is all I’ve known. She never feared to voice her desires out loud, and I have never heard her say that anything was too big or too ludicrous. There is almost something childish about it. The crazy thing is that all of them became a reality, like magic. I grew up believing in magic because I witnessed it; she is magic. She made sure to pass down the spells to me too, and later on, I understood that she was “manifesting” before it was a term overly used by the spiritual gurus of Instagram.
It’s simple: picture what it is that I want clearly for a moment before letting go of it, never obsess, loosen the grip but keep it close, trust in it, and put in the work. One day, before you even know it, things will align, and it’ll all be yours.
The formula works without fail. She has always gotten what she wanted, and if anything, she’s the only person I know who has received everything she’s ever truly desired. But my mother is a simple woman. Never dazzled by things that shine too brightly. I’m certain she could have manifested extreme wealth, and I have no doubt it would somehow have landed right in her lap. Yet her manifestations are guided by clear intention, always centred on peace and abundance. For her, abundance includes the safety of her children in every sense of the word. The flashy things society tells us we should all want simply don’t align with the core of her desires. When I left the nest at 18 years old, leaving her for the first time, I deeply believe that this was the start of the manifestations of the clay pot coming true. I immediately saw the world and found myself being in the right place and at the right time a lot of the time, doors opening left and right offering me opportunities far beyond my initial wishes and dreams. The world handed me things constantly; I had been spoilt. Just like intended, we forever remained close, yet I was rarely home; something always came up and required me to be in another city. Even through hardships, I was shielded and protected, only finding myself in difficult positions to learn a lesson clearly presented as such. At least nothing felt like it happened just out of cruelty. As soon as I felt lost or alone, angels without wings were always present to help me up and to guide me, angels with whom I get to experience life with to this day.
I find that I move through the world with ease and quickly understand those who cross my path; the objects she had placed in the clay pot seem to have done what she intended them to do. I am only human, and I have made mistakes, but my intuition has always served me well; only moments where I have decided to ignore it have things gone wrong. Yet another gift that keeps on giving she has given me.
I’m unsure what I did in a previous life to be blessed with a wonderful mother, and I realise many aren’t as fortunate—it is not too late for you. The way mine showed up for me, I believe we can always do for ourselves. I will forever be her baby, but I owe it to her to stand on my own as much as I can. So, what she passed on to me, I intend to apply it to my life and hopefully to my own children one day. So much can happen simply by believing and leading life with intention. I’ll let the magic speak for itself and for you to experience it.
I didn’t know she had done the ritual before a few weeks ago; she had never mentioned it. As soon as I heard the story, everything made so much sense. I couldn’t understand how I was able to be this lucky, never lacking anything I needed for the most part. Like many, I didn’t always realise that I had been so lucky, clouded by other desires, always wanting more. Yet, she’d tell me time and time again: always practice gratitude. “You must always look down nduk and never look up, to realise how far we’ve come and not to be reminded of what we don’t have or don’t have yet.”
And this is me doing just that.
Vahine Blaise, Los Angeles, United States, February 2026
