A Letter to My Mother

WRITING Elsie Wang

Lila Hathaway

Dear Mama,

It has been almost two years since I’ve left home and embarked on my next level of life, one that’s not led by your advice and lectures. Two years since I realized that the world hasn’t gotten colder, I've just slipped beyond the reach of your warm embrace.

At one point in my life, I know that I thought we between us seemed vast and unforgiving. But with years between that thought and now, as I sit isolated as a 19-year-old in college and further from home than I ever have been, I wonder why I ever thought that to begin with.

I remember feeling like the shelter you’ve built I didn’t understand why I shouldn’t hold my phone too close to my face, why I shouldn’t draw too much attention to myself in public, or why my curfew was so strict. “Don’t lay in bed on your phone all day,” you would scold. “Do you want to lose your eyes?”

I would respond, as always, “I know, I know,” and hold my phone further from myself for a few minutes before falling back into old habits. For all I understood, I had great eyesight.

“What are you wearing?” you would question. “It’s bad to attract so much attention.”

“I shouldn’t be punished just because other people like to stare,” I would snap, before reluctantly getting a jacket to cover up. We were living in America, why couldn’t my mom let go of her traditional beliefs?

“It’s dangerous to stay out late,” you would say. “Why do you always want to go out?”

I would fume, complaining, “All my friends get to hang out after school, why can’t I?” And for the rest of the week, I would apologize to my friends whenever they invited me to anything and blame my absences on my mom.

“I’m telling you these things for your own good,” you would say at the end of every lecture. “When

I couldn’t be more eager to venture to the other side of the country. “Not because I wanted to be far from home,” I told myself. “Because I need a change of scenery.”

What I didn’t realize was that that shelter you built had protected me from the bad weather that I didn't even know existed. Your roof provided stepping out of that shelter, I realized that you cared for every aspect of my life in a way that I was not able to see yet. And I’m sorry I was not able to understand what you went through until I, too, decided to leave home.

All of the things you used to lecture me about slowly started to make sense. Don’t go out too late. Be careful who you trust. Don’t drink cold beverages after a hot meal. I see now that you are shaped from years of experience. Years of living that I have only started to get a taste of. You left your own mother and family to come to America, unprotected and alone to fend for yourself. Each teaching you tried to yourself. Something that you wished I would understand before I left your protection, before I have any regrets.

You wanted to protect your daughter from the small pricks and the big pains.

You worried that my eyesight would deteriorate vision before I even reached adulthood.

You saw your little girl in the children that got taken advantage of. You wanted to protect me from dangers of the world the best way you knew how. To tell me not to go out late or attract any attention, much less negative attention.

You did your best to bestow your knowledge within me before I took my own steps into the world, without you by my side.

These days, I hope you didn’t think I was trying to run away from you. I hope you understand that no place has ever been as warm and forgiving as your me through my loneliness, and I am keeping my promise to you that I won't forget anything you have taught me.

to have someone who genuinely wants the best for me in every way.

My mom was born right at the end of Mao ZeDong’s life in Xinjiang, China. Her mother (my grandmother) was Ukrainian-Chinese, one of the many ethnic minorities in China and her dad (my grandfather) was Chinese. When my mom was born, she was sent to be raised with her aunt, who was struggling to have children at the time. My grandma had four of her own already, and sending her youngest daughter to her younger sister helped conserve enough food to feed the rest of the family, but also was a kind gesture to her desperate sister. My mom grew up to age 13 living with her aunt, at which point she returned to her birth parents. From the limited stories she’s told me, it was a jarring experience uniting with siblings and parents you have never met and being expected to easily become a part of the family.

From then, she studied and worked in Xinjiang until she was 21, when she met my father on a trip and they started dating. A few years later, they were married and had my older sister. My mom was still young and, frankly, hadn’t grown up yet. After my sister was born, she and my father planned to immigrate to the U.S. and raise their family there. My mother did not know any English and had no family in the U.S. But, determined for the sake of the future of her children, she agreed to leave her home and come to America. There, she had me, the second daughter.

My father traveled for business, often leaving my mom in the U.S. alone to raise my sister and I while he worked overseas. She struggled to make friends, to raise us, to survive with a large language barrier, and for years, she struggled with mental health issues like depression.

She went through so much to raise my sister and me to be resilient and strong like she is. Behind the stern teachings of a mother was a girl that grew up too quickly and wanted to protect her daughters from the same rough life that she had faced.

My mom truly is the strongest person I know and she inspires me every day.