Dear Mom,
I’m now in my mid-20s.
I’m more calm now than I used to be. I’m more calculating.
And I still have dreams.
I had dreams when I was 13, and you threw me a birthday party.
It was mostly dominated by your friends and partially dominated by my hormonal mood swings.
I had dreams when I was 14, and I completed my first manuscript.
You helped me publish it a year later.
I had dreams when I turned 16 and got my first byline in a national newspaper.
You helped with that, too.
A week ago, I walked into a media house, and my byline was the one and most important fact that impressed the head of production and creative services.
I had dreams when I turned 19 and flew across the world to gain an Australian education.
I had dreams when I went against your very well-placed wishes and was adamant and stubborn and decided to study journalism against your will.
We didn’t talk for a while because of this.
But now that I'm in my mid-20s, I'm a bit more mature.
With all the dreams I still have, here are eight things I’d like to tell you:
1. I miss you.
We haven’t seen each other in over five years due to geographical differences, but I miss you.
I really do.
I miss the scolding, the yelling and the threats.
Somehow, I feel like those always gave me comfort like a blanket on a cold, rainy night.
2. I wish you were close by.
I wish I could crankily tell you, “Good morning," and whine about the ridiculous curfew you would have probably installed.
I wish you were close by so I could hear your voice and smell your Revlon body lotion.
3. I wish I could talk to you regularly.
I wish I could talk to you about my dreams.
I'd ask you if I’m on the right track, if I should keep going, if I should change paths or if I should drop it altogether.
You would know what to do.
Perhaps you wouldn’t, but I imagine you would.
4. I wish I could tell you about the man I like.
I wish I could talk to you about the man I (think I) love, who doesn’t love me back or just doesn’t know if he does.
I wish you could tell me about the texts I shouldn’t send, the calls I shouldn’t make or the meetups I should never indulge in.
I wish I could ask you if it’s lust, love or some mere messed up infatuation.
You’ve been there before, so I reckon you’d know what I should do.
5. I wish you could give me advice on relationships.
I wish you could give me tips on dating, advice about men, warnings about relatives and red-flags in friendships.
I wish I didn’t have to try to figure it out all alone without much maternal guidance, making so many mistakes and learning through them.
I wish I had you around, and if you were, I’d hope I’d have the confidence to ask you for these and the humility to listen and follow your every nugget of wisdom.
6. I wish you could assess whether my level of impatience is absolutely absurd.
I don’t like begging, I don’t like insisting, I don’t like asking for the same thing more than twice and I especially don’t like “pleading” for things I’m going to spend my money on, especially services.
Should I be more patient? Should I be more tolerant?
Am I too tough?
And if the answer is yes, what should I do?
7. I wish I had you around to make comparisons.
I wish I had you to tell me if I’m a mini-you, and if I really do look like you.
I hope I’m going to look as beautiful as you do 25 years from now.
I hope I have the potential to be as tenacious as you are, and I hope I will be as elegant, regal and spiritual as you.
8. I miss your guidance.
I wish I had you close by to tell me a cute (possibly lame) story about your childhood; to sing a silly song when we are both tipsy (both indulging in a bottle of rosé together); to warn me when I’m clearly headed for a train wreck, but ultimately, to guide me when I’m feeling lost and clueless.
I wish you could command me to snap out of it and get moving.
I wish you could tell me to me chase my dreams and remind me there’s absolutely no room for mediocrity.
I miss you.
And I hope you miss me, too.
