Dear Mom,

There is a pile of unclean plates in the sink and some untouched tea in a cup. The chairs are scattered and the corkboard is a disaster; your picture hangs beside mine as it taunts me how I was a mirror of who you were before you were torn open and brought life; before you slept with your head on the table with receipts as pillows; before you were ‘Mom.’ 

You taught me how to cook and I failed to let the grief rest first before it consumed me whole. You should have taught me how to feel. Maybe then, it would not have left a bad taste in my mouth when I spoke your name. You brought food to our table while I salted my wounds out of spite; I wanted you to see that the love you gave hurt me more than it filled my stomach. 

You taught me how to pay the bills and I failed to give credit when it was due before I let my thoughts run overtime. You should have taught me how to save. Maybe then, I would not have numbered the days where I wanted to be the one to leave. You paid for everything while I kept tabs on what you owed; I wanted you to empty your heart. 

Today, you packed your bags and you loaded them in the trunk. I held my chest as you did so, because despite the car carrying your luggage, why do I feel the heaviness inside me? You were 'Mom' to me, and before anything else, I knew you were someone. But that did not matter as I grew; it did not matter until now. 

Tomorrow, you’ll be exactly 6,924 miles away from me and my sister’s diplomas. You will be shaking an employer’s hand while we shake another’s; you will pose for a meeting’s picture while my sister and I stand and wait for the click as the clack of your heel echoes through your office halls. 

And the day after that I will be at my favorite band’s concert; and the next is a visit to Dad’s; and the next is the very first time I said ‘Yes’ to being loved; and the rest is how I live off my days as you live yours; from afar, on a safe distance, in separate lives. 

Mothers love their sons and raise their daughters; you did both for me. And in the midst of the chaos of my board, the pain from your past, and my aching heart: you are a daughter too; and you are now exactly where you were supposed to be, with or without me. 

Mom, I love you. I love you. Thank you. 

-  Allyah Jenris C. Allam
(Illustration by Chynna Mae Santos/FEU Advocate)