Dear Mom,
No matter what culture I experience, I’ve always found one
thing universal: The love a mother has for their child. Although it may not
seem that children are valued as much as in American culture in some places, I
think it’s only just expressed differently. It may not always be apparent,
going day to day with a seemingly cold relationship, little interaction or
affection. Or maybe it will be apparent, in the laughing, the dinnertime
conversation, or the assistance with homework. But no matter what, when in
need, a mother is always there for their child, whether American, Kenyan,
Moroccan, or any other culture.
I know sometimes (alright, honestly, most of the time) my
aspirations and choices in life make you want to have a panic attack. In some
ways, I’m sure you might have wished I would have simply graduated college and
gotten a normal job and not decided to run rampant on the world. But I know at
the end of every day, when I burrow under my 4 blankets and sleeping bag and
can still see my breath, that you are proud of me. I know you and Dad both go
to work each day with the latest of my updates to share with your friends.
But remember this as well: The first thing I did my first
night with my Moroccan host family was to show them the pictures of my family
back home. Without you and Dad to show me what hard work meant, to show me what
the world has to offer, and to show me that my own potential never stops, I
could never have had a chance to give you stories to tell. Never do I have a
day that I do not at some point think, “Man… I wish mom were here to see this”
or “Damn, what would dad think right now?” Whether you realize it or not, you
travel with me through each and every one of my adventures, and I make sure to
never lose sight of who made those adventures possible.
I remember, Mom, when you first went back to school to get
your degree. You took a leap of faith and followed your dreams. While my 4th
grade self may not have really understood what was going on at the time, I’m so
proud of you for what you’ve done. You taught me that it was never too late to
do what you want to do with your life, and, if you work hard enough, anything
is possible. You raised me to know that I could be whoever I wanted to be, and
through thick or thin, you would stand by me. Even through my lowest lows and
my greatest achievements, you were my rock. You were who I called at the end of
the day. You were who I wanted to tell my stories too, and you were who I was
most afraid to disappoint when I messed up.
The more I travel and the further I get from home, the more
I realize how strong your love for me is. On those days when I had no
motivation to do my Peace Corps application, and you kept nagging me about it,
those were the days when you put your fears on the backburner so I could follow
my dreams. I can’t begin to guess the number of times in the last month that
you’ve wished me back home. The stress and worry you face everyday are because
you loved me so much that you trusted me to follow my dreams. And in my times of
doubt, you were the one that told me I could do it.
I can’t image being the mother of independent,
pain-in-the-ass, obnoxious me. I would have a heart attack if I had to wait
each day for the latest email or update that I’m alright. But you do it. Because
you love me. Because of that, I do everything I can to make sure you always
know that I’m okay. And when I’m maybe not okay, I still tell you I am, because
just being able to tell you that will make me okay.
I love you so much, and you have given me everything in
life.
Monika
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