To You, My Daughter, Who’d Just Turned Twenty

Letter to her child, translated…

My daughter, you’d turned twenty today.  Twenty years ago, we’d, walked into one another’s life.

I still recalled, you, at age two, loved our poetry reading, the autumn moon shone through your window, gently, shed light on your body that’s sleeping sound, you looked like a sleeping beauty.  At age four, you’d not feared falling down, put on your rollerblades, and, glided forward.  At seven, after you’d watched Cats, you’d, turned yourself into a cat too, stood on the front of your walls, painted the colorful cats all over.  At age eight, you’d fallen in love with the children’s books, made a promise, to make a book for yourself, documenting your own growth processes each and every single year.  At age nine, you’d started asking me, what, was the purpose, of doing those practice math problems.   When you were ten, you’d started, disliking piano, after you’d met a bump in learning the music after so many years of taking it up.  At eleven, your pigtails got turned into a long ponytail, and you’d, only wanted, to dress in blue.  At twelve, you’d, from time to time, say those angry words, to get back at me.

After middle school, you’d started writing poetry, on nights after you’d grown tired and weary from studying and cramming.  Later on, I’d, gone abroad for my studies, during that time, you’d taught me, to face parting from you with bravery, and made me realize, that sometimes, children are, tougher, than their parents, that children have more to teach adults than we, the adults could, ever imagined, you’d also, helped me mature, as a mother too.

not my photo…

The six years which your life was, overcasted with the testing clouds, we’d become, battlemates.  I understand, that you’re a child, with a lot of creativity, knew what you wanted, so, I’d, respected your choices; and, I’d had to, weather through an assortment of pressures from outside, and, become, the mother of a child who’s very brave and knowledgeable.  This is not spoiling you, but trusting you.  Because of love, I’d, trusted, I believe, that we’re, traveling the same path, helping to make each other’s dreams come true.

On the year you’d turned twenty, there are some changes in the world.  Sometimes, we’re, very close, and at others, we’d seemed, so distant from one another.  You are, far away, busying about, with your extracurricular activities, major meetings, playing jazz drums, listening to English rock n’ roll, flipping through the pages of your own youth, I’d, slowed my paces down, ready, to embrace, my own, empty nest, and, pick the me I’d forgotten about, for many years on end again.

You’d told me, that you’d needed to, think again, over the roads you’d, already traveled down, to take a break for a bit.  Maybe, it’s because how distant we are by the years, maybe, it’s my expectation for you that’s, way too high, or maybe, I’d, held the wrong kinds of expectations of you?  How, do I let you know, that defeat will eventually, fall, at the feet of persistence and stamina, that the path you’re currently on, I’d, already walked through.  And, after you’d gone through the trials that life has for you, we will find our, separate exits, turn back, to restart again, or whatever, then, allowing both our souls, to rest for a bit, then, restart again.

It’s been, such a long time, since I’d received, a letter from you, I loved the temperature of your written words, loved the nostalgias you’d put in, your handmade artifacts.  This, is the second birthday that you’d not spend, by our sides, I will, wish you, a happy twentieth!  I hope, you’ll remember, that life after twenty, is the start of, your maturity, that you needed to, weave out that crown, with your own hands, for you to put on.  I hope, that you’ll become, what, you want to become, instead of, something you hoped you could be when you looked back.  

Dear, I want to thank you, for being my child.  Your turning twenty, is also, my twentieth year as a mom.  On this path, I’m grateful, for you, accompanying, thank you, for reminding me, that I too, was, once, young before, allowing me, to read through those years of childhood with you again.

So, in this letter on he3r birthday, the mother wrote down all of her hopes and dreams for her own daughter, and, she’d counted the times, that her daughter had, rebelled against her authority, and, know, that it was, a stage, and she’d hoped, that at twenty, her daughter will be, mature, as she is, entering, the next stage of her life…