A letter to mama

There are two nice things my mother told me

1. when I was suffering from heartache: nobody is gonna ever love you more than me

2. And when I was switching universities scared I won’t get in

It’s okay if you don’t get in, it’s okay

You never taught me how to cook

We never went on vacations together

I was the last child

I guess you spent your energy on the 3 before me.

I was my daddy’s girl

But daddy was sick

And when I grew up he was already gone in his mind

From the ptsd

From all the loss he suffered

At 23, daddy was gone

But mom

You never told me you loved me

Or that you’re proud of me

Just that I’m a whore

When I had a boyfriend in high school

And “what are people going to think?”

I did it all myself

I finished 2 degrees

Got a job at the best company

Started my own

Earning 6 figures

You never once told me you’re proud

I pushed more

So I enrolled to another degree at Harvard

I started building a house with my partner

All while coming to my hometown every month for at least 7 days, so you’re not alone, so I can help you

All at 26

All while grieving my father, going to therapy for which you told me: go to church, find god

You never talk to me

You tell me about other people my age, they’re accomplishments and you’re so in awe of them

But I am right here

In front of you

I wonder what’s the next thing I’ll do in order to try and make you proud

Because a house, a company and a Harvard degree is not enough