By Nicole Wang

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A raw letter addressed to my mom: hurtful memories one part of me hopes she still remembers, imperfections still left uncovered, and everything I never said to her.

妈妈, 

There’s so much I want to say to you. Intangible feelings of hate, anger, and love. I feel too scared to confront you, and I should think you will never read this, because if I do, then I wouldn’t be too honest with myself. I really want to know if one part of you ever thought about seeing a different face on the hospital bed. I think I’m insignificant in your eyes. Though, I know that’s far from how you feel. Sometimes I think I’m always putting the way I see myself to explain how others see me, including you. I have never upheld the invisible expectations that linger in our conversations or through your reprimands. What do you expect of me? Why can’t you accept me for who I’m trying my best to be? 

I have always been a burden your strained back has to carry. At each doctor’s appointment, you held my hand, telling me everything will be okay. It was just the two of us in the waiting room, waiting until people started to trickle out, and before we knew it, the day had become cold and dark. I’m not perfect. It’s harder for me to accept myself than you do. How can I not hate myself when I am the child born with a birthmark and Teratoma, landing in the hospital at age six? Sometimes I wish for things to be the same, but then I remember the pain behind the smile that never reaches your eyes. I wish I wasn’t the child who knocked on your room in the middle of the night because of my nose bleeds. I hated myself for the never-healing holes in both of my arms because of my weekly allergy shots on the 8th floor of Queens Crossing. One part of me longs to know if there is a part of you that detests me for being so dependent on you.

Look where we are– with our own house (no need to rent a stuffy room for the four of us) and a Toyota that can do the job. Now, we also have a restaurant, which you initially thought would lighten your worries. Trust me, I thought it would solve all our financial problems and bring our family closer together too. From working once a week to five times a week, including my weekends, I have ultimately considered the restaurant our second home. You spend six out of seven days in the restaurant– stained with sweat and tears from your endless toils. 妈妈, I’m so proud of you. But, I hope you understand how I feel. Those calls in the middle of the school day to alleviate angry customers will never end and that business 1099 tax form would not have corrected itself if it wasn’t for the 30 back-and-forth emails between Grubhub, UberEat, and Doordash.

You are now in your 40s, and I’m only 15. But, in those 15 years of my life, your unwavering motherly love will always keep me going. I love you so much. I love when I extend my arms for a hug from you and you warmly embrace me. We made so many memories that I look back on when I feel lonely. However, that one night in 2015 will forever be engraved in my memory– that pouring night with stars glistening in the sky. I pointed to the different animals until droplets fell into my eyes. We didn’t have an umbrella, so we ran through the rain across the street. My hand in yours. We were waiting for the bus, but you knew I was hungry so you brought me to the Dunkin’ Donuts nearby and went back outside in the pounding thunder just to get me Halal food from a food cart. In those two minutes I was so scared, but I felt like the happiest kid out there. I could feel the love when you opened the plate and passed me the one set of utensils. I remember you refusing when I asked you if you wanted. You pushed the plate towards me and smiled: “妈妈不要，你先吃.” No one can replace that motherly love I always felt from you. I hope you also remembered that night. 

There are still so many words left unspoken. Still, so many things undone. So many promises waiting to be fulfilled. So many places I want to take you to. So many nights I still want to live while talking to you about the silliest of things. So many laughs I want to hear from you. Smiles I want to bring to your face. So many memories I still want to make. We will get there together.

I am like a caterpillar inside my cocoon. I want to break free. And when I do, I want to become that beautiful butterfly. I want to become that shining butterfly in your eyes. That perfect daughter. 

In the end, you are always here with me, and I can’t ask for more than that.

Thank you for choosing to be strong for me,

蕾蕾

Process

Growing up in an Asian-American household, I have experienced difficulties in trying to accept my imperfections, which I blamed to be the cause of my straining relationship with my mom. Reflecting back, the difficulties must have stemmed from the harshness of coming to terms with myself and the reality of our relationship. As much as I had hope for everything to stay the same, our individual struggles have changed us both and inevitably caused bridgeless gaps in our relationship.

This writing piece is actually for the CAMDC “Dear Mom, Dear Dad” Writing Competition. This experience has made me reflect what has really flew by these past years. Especially because of the pandemic, my mom has became a ever supporting cheerleader, despite her scoldings here and there. I have come to love her for not only being my mom, but my best friend.