my mom is the original tiger mom (says every asian kid)
in elementary school i signed up for a christian summer camp because i wanted to hang out with my best friend. luckily, camp good news’ conversion strategy leaned more on go-kart racing and swimming in the lake than giving us the hard sell. the most religiousy moments happened around the campfire, when counselors would lead us in a prayer to welcome jesus into our hearts. i remember peeking at the faces around the circle, light and shadow flickering across closed lids, thinking, well if this is all it takes to become a christian, it can’t be that hard to back out later if i change my mind.
at the end of the two weeks i still didn’t know what the ‘good news’ was.
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there was a girl at camp whose name was precious, which fascinated me. precious was a name that old people gave to their dogs, or fellow ‘90s kids gave to their tamagotchi (but that’s a stretch, tbh). at the time i was envious of this undeniable sign of parental affection. to be always secure in the knowledge of your parents’ love! now i wonder if mom and dad ever regret the constant reminder that their daughter is a miracle of life.
parents aren’t supposed to have favorites. but it’s clear to me now that your children are just as much a reflection of your DNA as they are of the person you were when you raised them, a person you may prefer to leave in the past.
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i was born in a hospital a few blocks from tiananmen square, on a day when 100,000 students gathered there to mourn the death of hu yaobang, a communist party leader who had pushed for political liberalization.
my dad left for the states shortly after i was born. the plan had always been for my mom and me to join him as soon as he was settled. but when my mom got off the plane a few months later, to my dad’s great surprise, she was alone. her parents had convinced her, at the last minute, that things in the US didn’t seem stable enough to add a baby to the mix. another three years would pass before we were reunited.
i’ve never asked my mom if she regrets missing those early years, if the separation affected the much exalted mother-daughter bond. i remember it was a period she particularly savored when my brother came around.
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my mom is the original tiger mom (says every asian kid). but actually, her chinese zodiac sign is the tiger. when people ask me about my family dynamic, i often say that if you were to imagine each of us surrounded by a colored cloud representing the amount of emotional space we take up, my mom’s would be 3x as big as everyone else’s. gauging her emotional temperature as soon as i stepped inside the house became as second nature as taking off my shoes.
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i have a knack for facetiming my mom when she’s not wearing her glasses. to compensate, she’ll raise the phone so close to her face that from my end it’s not so much facetime as it is eyetime or nosetime. when this happened a few months ago, i was startled by how old she looked. the under-eye circles that seem to have darkened into permanent maroon wells.
the phrase that jumped to mind, the only one that seemed appropriate, was bone tired.
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at dinner recently i stole my brother’s phone (probably to send myself some pictures) when a text came in from mom. my nosiness was rewarded with a wave of surprise, sadness, and guilt.
the tenderness of the exchange caught me off guard; i rarely text my mom just to check in, and i don’t think i’ve ever texted her “i love you.” right now i can’t even bring myself to heart any of her messages.
knowing my brother is so caring relieved some of my guilt. at least she has one responsive, attentive kid.
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i’m slowly realizing that before you can forgive someone, something has to die. embedded deep in forgiveness is grief—for the friendship you thought would last forever; for the childhood you didn’t have, that you may still think you deserve. you have to let go of what you thought something was, what you hoped it could be.