Dear Mom,

                                     
   
When I was a little girl, you used to take me to coffee shops. (In fact, that was probably where my caffeine addiction roots began). I was your little mini-me. I remember the matching tye-dye dresses we had, but instead of being embarrassed, I embraced resembling my heroine. I cannot complain...your love was- is- ever so strong that nothing can make you love me any less.

Sometimes I wish I could go back to those days in hopes that we could make light conversation like we used to. Instead of talks consuming student loans, work, how busy I am, how dirty my car is, how dirty my room is, how completely a mess I am to you, I just wish we could go back in time a little. Perhaps right before life caved in on me prior to college. Where you had zero expectations of me and only wanted to talk to me for the sake of knowing me, not to tell me what to do. Because mom, though you may dislike the idea, I am not a little girl anymore. Trust me, I've walked the street without holding your hand before. I've learned so much in my two years in college that believing I have not changed is...well, ludicrous. Sure, I am not a perfect person but I am a young adult. I am learning, exploring, observing, experiencing. I guess now I want you to be proud of the person I am becoming, not disappointed at what I am not. Would you like to know my political beliefs? What I am learning about in physiology? Or if I know about disease A or disease B? What about how I feel about myself and my interpersonal confidence? Do you want to know about my relationship? See mom, the superficial, insubstantial things act as barriers, and I cannot connect with you anymore. Yes, believe me, I know there are fingerprints on the bathroom mirror. I know my trashcan is full. I know these things. But I, ashamedly, do not know that you would prefer to focus on the person occupying the room rather than the mess that occupies it.

I know my transitioning into adulthood is not easy for you, as much as it isn't easy for me. I feel like this bizarre looking caterpillar with funky colors in a cocoon because it's not really a caterpillar anymore but certainly not a butterfly yet. Or a pubescent teenager who's half child half woman. I feel strange, too. I'm right smack in the middle of that bridge crossing into a frightening part of my life. I know to you I am a mess, literally and figuratively. What I hope for ----

[12:07am. You opened the door to my room, walked over, and hugged me tightly. Then you smiled because you noticed I fixed my broken knob from my library set. "I love you. And your room doesn't look that bad". You're calmer now.  I smiled. "Hm, maybe just get rid of that bag over there from Christmas." I agreed. It's as if nothing ever happened. We're off to have tea in five minutes.]

What I hope for are moments likes these.