The Melange February/March 2024

A r t s & S c i e n c e S t u d e n t M a g a z i n e

vision statement

Our vision is for The Melange to be a light-hearted and enjoyable read, to shine light on what constitutes the Artsci experience (in terms of our formal degrees, but also in terms of day-to-day goings-on!), and to bring Artsci students together to appreciate each other’s written and visual talent

We want The Melange to be a positive force within the Artsci community; as such, we do not accept or publish submissions that are discriminatory or hateful. There is room for thoughtful critique or for kind-hearted teasing in the name of humour or satire, but there is not room for pieces that insult anyone, are hurtful, or perpetuate racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, ableism, ageism, or religious discrimination We also want all information published in The Melange to be factual, correct, and clear; please note that fact-checking and resulting edits for non-fiction pieces will be included in the editorial process.

Content guidelines

Think about The Melange and all of its content as aiming to be community-building: when designing your submission, check with yourself: “Is this contribution supportive of my Artsci community?” (though your contribution doesn’t have to be about Artsci!)

If you want to create a piece on a faculty member, admin, student, or alumni, please get their consent (and evidence of consent, to show our editors) for the specific way in which you will be portraying them before you create or submit your piece.

Note: Merely referring to an individual in passing (i e , when they’re not the subject of your piece) doesn’t require formal consent, but please note that The Melange’s editors reserve the right to edit these names out of a piece if their inclusion is inappropriate

Please aim to keep submissions under two pages maximum/1000 words. We will assess submissions on a case-by-case basis, but generally we are looking for short pieces.

We accept poetry, short stories, comic strips, recipes, humour and satire, book reviews, reflections, visual art, fun riddles or crossword puzzles, and any other categories of submissions you come up with! Be as creative as you want! We can’t wait to enjoy your work :)

WIN A PRIZE BY WIN A PRIZE BY DOING THIS DOING THIS SIMPLE HACK! SIMPLE HACK!

It’s not clickbait, readers: as a special thank you for being such dedicated fans, we’ve devised a quest for you. Somewhere in this issue, we’ve hidden the Melange logo (pictured here): be the first to find it to win a signature Melange button! Send an email to themelangebyartsci@outlook com telling us where you found it for your chance to win Happy perusing!

Volume 4 no. 4

Love languages in the library, February 2024

Submission and editorial process

Submissions should be sent exclusively to themelangebyartsci@outlook.com. Please attach your submission to the email as a Word Document or Google Doc, and indicate in your message what type of submission it is (e.g. “historical fiction comic strip” or “interview with an Artsci alumnus”) If yours is a written piece, feel free to attach any images you would like to accompany it on the page or provide suggestions for accompanying illustrations for our team of artists to take on!

One of our editors will contact you directly within a few days of the contribution deadline to notify you whether there is space for your piece in the upcoming issue or whether we will need to save it for a future issue. If your piece is accepted, there will be a specific editorial timeline We reserve the right to reject submissions if they do not follow our content guidelines

Editors will work one-on-one with contributors to edit their pieces. There will be an initial round of edits, which the editor will return as feedback to the creator for any necessary or suggested revisions A final draft will be sent from the creator back to the editor, who then will complete final touch-ups. Please be available to make revisions to your piece in the week following the contribution deadline, since our turnaround time for edits will be quick!

Brought to you by

Editors

SamDePaul,LukeFancott,Olly Griesbach,TessMacdonald, SamanthaPotts,DaniWohl

Journalists

McKinleyBallantyne,GiaChahal, GraemeLavrence,Sarayu Nambiar,AliceQiu,Grace Ratelband,KimiaTahaei,Macey Zhou

Contributors

AlyssaAbush,Jonathan Rosenhek,LauraTang,Saskia Tholen

Artists/Illustrators

JaydaHewitt,AllyPeiMiddleton,KristenRasmussen, VivianVuong,JingYiXie,Emily Yang,OlliZelek

Layout/ArtEditors

JadynWestenberg

DDearReader, earReader,

It’s time to talk about Love As bell hooks writes in her book, All About Love, “To truly love we must learn to mix various ingredients - care, affection, recognition, respect, commitment, and trust, as well as honest and open communication ”

I try to carry this wisdom with me, acknowledging that we are lucky in our lives to experience a diverse multitude of loving relationships, and that these connections nurture us as much as we nurture them Loving is learning to blend these ingredients into a medley You could even say that love is you guessed it a mélange In the spirit of these ingredients, I would like to be honest and open by sharing my own love story, the classic tale of a girl and her first love: a lit magazine.

The first time I ever submitted to The Melange was for the Love Issue in February 2022 I shared two emotionally indulgent poems which, to be completely honest with you, now don’t feel as close to my heart as they did two years ago However, this moment was only the beginning of my love story with The Melange; this was the first step to me becoming a journalist and now an editor, and a (hopefully) wiser version of the 19 year-old who felt the insatiable urge to have her (potentially embarrassing and cringey) heartbreak poems published for all to read Nevertheless, I’m grateful that they are out there, preserved in this time capsule of creative expression for a given moment in our lives I hope The Melange can offer that to you as well; let there always be a space to share art from your heart to connect with others. And so, I want to thank my fellow editors, contributors, journalists, and readers for creating and embracing this space; your vulnerability to write and read these pieces is commendable and meaningful beyond the words we try to use to describe it

The last thing I’ll leave you with is the following: Love is not a scarce resource, love is as abundant as we nurture it to be. As I near the end of my time in Artsci, I hope to continue making the most of the remaining moments with people I love in a community I love Though these specific moments can feel fleeting, I’m taking solace in the wise words from A Chorus Line: “Love is never gone / As we travel on / Love's what we'll remember ”

“With Love” comprises our wonderful contributors’ diverse explorations of love across its many forms, ingredients, complexities, modes, and meanings As you read this issue, I hope your heart is touched by The Melange’s perspectives on love, as well as the perspective of Love as a mélange And so, as I sign off with care, affection, recognition, respect, commitment, and trust, I can wholeheartedly do so with lots of love as well

With all my love,

Dani Wohl & The Melange Editorial Team

L o v e

[sometime near midnight]

it’s too late to write, and i’m not writing, really it’s not poetry

can i think about such a big thing as love at this hour? but i think of an earlier conversation with people i love and i thought they would leave me but they’re still here love is a choice and they keep choosing me against all odds and i choose them, again and again, because i love them does that make sense, i choose to love them because i love them? no, not really, but there it is.

i brought up boats again today i’m a sailor, but i haven’t used those metaphors they’re not metaphors, maybe analogies?

in a while haven’t needed them, i think, and it’s because of them, in a way

i’m doing better than last year, and it’s because of this love, oh how strong it is how much more i can do, how much better i can survive when i’m not the only one in my boat technically, you can sail a boat on your own but it ruins the metaphor, and i can’t, anyway. we need other people in our boats sailors who don’t understand that or the reciprocity of roles, who value skipper over crew, they aren’t good sailors at least i think

so i have decided i will hold onto this love, choose it again and again, be a worthy crew in this boat. they helped my boat stay afloat and they kept me from drowning and this isn’t why i choose to love them, not exactly, but this is how i know they choose to love me because my boat was going to capsize with the spin up a year ago, and a year later they’re still here. and i’m still here with them too.

and it doesn’t matter that no one knows what spin is because i’m here and i’m good at it and i choose, again and again, to be a crew in their boats too, and i can fly spin and maybe i’m not as good as i think (and maybe i am) and maybe that’s all i can do (i’m a good crew, right?), but i choose to do it

i choose to love them and they choose to love me and together we keep our boats afloat maybe that’s all that really matters and i can think about love hours after my brain stops working because it’s such a big thing, not in spite of it all this because of love, not in spite of it [sometime nearer midnight]

WordsbyAlyssaAbush, LevelII ArtbyKristenRasmussen,LevelIV

A Love Letter to my Mother

Dearest Mama,

You told me something once that has never managed to leave me You told your defiant little girl one simple sentence:

“We’llbetreatingeachotherlikesistersoneday,that’swhatmothersanddaughtersdo ”

Of course, when I was young, I didn’t believe you. The only time I could even fathom us being like sisters was when people commented on how alike we look Now that I’m just a little bit more grown up, I’m beginning to see it

I see it in how you make me your specialty fusion dish, naan pizza, whenever I need some comfort food I see it when you sit next to me at the island table as I eat to make sure I finish my food, but also to keep me company and chat I see it when you send me your Wordle every day, without fail I see it during our drives, when we can have the silliest conversations to the deepest ones, and then blast our favourite songs as we race across the Pitt River Bridge. I see it when we get our eyebrows threaded, then head next-door for two scoops of gelato

We’re close, Mama Just like sisters, like you told me all those years ago I want you to know how much I cherish that. I’m always here for you to lean on, just as you’re there for me, and I’m forever on your side But most importantly, I swear to do all the things that you couldn’t do because of your sacrifices I vow to prove that they weren’t stupid or in vain, but that your actions provided your daughter with a beautiful life full of colour and opportunities You’ve done so much for me The least I can do in return is to make you proud.

Now that I’m across the country from you, I miss the way you could love me when I was right in front of you But every day, I am reminded of you in a way that once annoyed me, but now brings me joy: every time I look into the mirror, I see you looking back at me, with all your beauty and spirit and ferocity. I love you, Mama. Not simply by virtue of you being my mother, but because you are the strongest, wisest, and most loving woman you are someone who I aspire to be every day Though you don’t say it out loud too much, you never fail to show me you love me in ways that I never thought to consider as a child. Thank you for everything you do and continue to do for me. I’m endlessly grateful.

Love always and forever, Sarayu

Your ponnu

Love is a living room

Family movie night, popcorn squished between the couch cushions The same movie over again, because it’s your favourite Mom and Dad pretend they still like watching it.

Love is a living room It’s a nap on the too-squishy couch after a day at high school has sucked every ounce of life from you It’s Mom sitting on the couch beside you, playing with your hair

It’s the glow of the Christmas tree reflecting off dark windows Five o’clock on a Thursday in December Christmas chocolate melting on your tongue as you tuck under a blanket

Maybe love is couches full of clothes, half folded Still warm from the dryer Sit a minute, on top of them all, before you’re scolded for making them dirty again.

Love is family movie night with a plus-one Awkward shuffling, how close is too close when Mom and Dad are around? Fingers subtly entwined before the credits roll.

And love is a living room with pillows to cry into that soften the ache of first love lost. Your sister is there to listen, but you both sit in silence.

Love is a living room––old, but brand new to you Ignore the stains on the couch, cram too many people between its soft arms. Some on the floor, too, cushions beneath them A buzz of conversation and connection between us There are muffins

Love is here in another new living room. You picked out the couch. It was on sale. But you bought it with your own money, and it’s here because you wanted it to be Sitting with the one you chose In love, in the living room

WordsbyMcKinleyBallantyne,LevelI ArtbyOlliZelek,LevelI

I wake on the couch and watch the ceiling

All I’ve ever felt running my eyes over these plaster swirls and the hasty patching is love

I love this house to its very bones

It’s a wonder they’ve borne the weight of our living And there were lives here before ours, beautifully heavy

The floors wear smooth like soles of shoes long loved by feet

The paint chips, blackens It bubbles like scalded skin in the places where pipes leak

I can hear the house groan Not with complaint, but like an old man settling in a chair

The house settles, beautifully heavy I love into you, through you

And you hold the weight of my loving You hold me

Often, I am a poorer record-keeper than I wish to be

I am making peace with the fact that the record is here, in your bones

A wise man said that poetry is the ashes of a life that’s burning well

Ashes should be scattered, not stored

Burn me on the wick of a candle Burn me in the sun

You don’t need to preserve me You don’t even need to remember me

Don’t burn me on a pyre Burn me on the edge of a hot pan or with a plastic lighter

This morning the world is still and we are still here Something inside me swells, softens, and I creep up the stairs

Dear house, I’ve learned as I reel out the long line of my life, trying to catch something

As I reach outwards, inwards, and upwards

As I try to make fire

That the only real thing is love

Heavy and weightless

Saskia Tholen, LevelIV

AllyPei-Middleton, LevelII

(first love)

i can almost imagine that i can still feel your edges when i press my fingers into my own skin: a fleeting trace of your heartbeat, a subtle remnant of your gentle saccharine warmth, somewhere beneath the layers of callous. my sadness is stale, now; a product of salt water and time

WordsbyOllyGriesbach,LevelIV ArtbyJadynWestenberg,LevelIII

It takes all night and lot of tugging and tearing, but at last I manage to yank it free With a sigh of relief, I hold it out in front of me, spreadingmyfingerssothecrimsonfluidpoolsontothelinoleumfloorofthekitchen.Redhasneverbeenmyfavouritecolour.

I’m seven years old and I’m flying through the air Who do you like? a little girl giggles, her feet dangling in the summer breeze There’s got to be someone I don’t know I don’t like anyone Come on Tell me Okay, I guess maybe Eli He’s nice Eli? You’ve got to be joking! I jump off the swing, land hard in the sand. I don’t like lying.

I cradle it in my hands It’s still beating, the electrical signals reverberating down into my shoes and up into my hair I think: who knew itwouldweighsolittle,intheend

I’m ten years old and my dad breaks the news to me on the drive home from school Two words: Jeff died Neither of us look at each other, and I can tell he’s choking back tears I wonder why I’m not crying as I try, desperately, to remember my youngest uncle’s face

Icarryit,stillbareanddrippingred,downtotheriverbank.

I’m twelve years old and someone has stolen my lunch again Though recess is almost over, I hop the rusting schoolyard fence and make my way down to a riverside bench, out of sight from taunting eyes I hear a branch snap behind me and turn to see a boy approaching. He smiles shyly, holding out the larger half of his own cheese sandwich.

I stop, for a moment, in front of a rickety wooden bench Something tugs behind my navel – have I been here before? The feeling fades: I can’tquitegraspit Icarryon,lookforsomewherethegroundissoft

I’m fifteen and I cradle my friend’s head as she weeps A crumpled obituary falls from her hand and the image of her father’s face smiles up at me I smooth out the page, tuck it safely into my pocket Neither of us will go to school today

It doesn’t take me long to dig the hole, kicking up the dirt with my shoe – I only go down a few inches. Still, in the afternoon sun, the bloodisbeginningtodry–warmfleshtowarmflesh

I’m seventeen years old and she kisses me in a weather-worn tent and I think I’m in love. I try not to think about the plane she’ll be boarding tomorrow I wonder: can one kiss last you a lifetime?

Ikneel

I’m twenty-two and it’s been a year since my grandmother passed but I can still smell her on my favourite sweater

Idropitbackwhereitcamefrom

I’m twenty-two and I have cramps and my roommate makes me tea that we drink on the kitchen floor

Foldtheearthoveritself,overagainandagain

I’m twenty-two and my dad is getting older and I hate myself for not calling him more often. I’m twenty two and there’s someone I love in four of the seven continents I’m twenty two and I can’t sleep because I don’t know how to love without losing a part of myself and I’m twenty two and 300 more civilians die across the world and I can’t stop their bleeding, I can’t, so can I really stop mine? and I’m twenty two and the weight in my chest is crushing my lungs and I wonder, just for a second, how long it would take to tear out my own heart, if I would feel it, if it would be easier to breath, if the cavity left behind would be large enough to fit everything and everyone

WhenI’mfinished,Idon’tbothertoscrapethedirtfrombeneathmyfingernails

Olly Griesbach, LevelIV

Agape

King’sViewsonLove asaSpiritualBelief

Love? As a remedy to plague America’s deep divide between Black and white? A salve for the wounds of injustice and discrimination? Rev Martin Luther King Jr believed so This piece explores the concept of Agape, the “purely spontaneous, unmotivated, groundless, and creative” form of love which King believed had the power to transform and save race relations in America (1)

More than one kind of love?

According to the Ancient Greeks there are three main kinds of love: Eros, a potentially dangerous yet intimate love; Philia, more like “brotherly love”; and Agape, the type of love at the core of King’s nonviolent practice, what he calls “the love of God operating in the human heart” (2)(1).

In more practical, non-religious terms, King feels that Agape means "loving the person who does the evil deed while hating the deed that the person does,” a feeling in which “the individual seeks not his own good, but the good of his neighbor” (1) Interestingly, Agape is similar to the Buddhist concept of Metta, often translated to benevolence or loving-kindness (3). It is this kind of love that heals the scars of hate, an active spiritual practice with the aim of restoring a fractured community

King believed that Agape was the only way to heal the divide between the oppressor and oppressed, white and Black, citizen and state However, as with most philosophical theories or ground-sweeping ideas, this is easier said than done. We may have the theory, but what does Agape look like in practice?

To those who believe that this form of being is passive or cowardly, King responds that the very idea of nonviolence is active: a non-violent resistor’s mind and emotions are always active in attempting to meet dark with light (4) Most importantly, they attempt to show the oppressor that they are wrong without imposing any humiliation or shame.

It is in this sense that King’s call for love in a divided world remains relevant, as we approach 56 years following his assassination, whether it be to tackle the climate crisis or to address systemic injustice

Here’s to channeling “this creative force that works to bring the disconnected aspects of reality into a harmonious whole” (1) We need Agape now more than ever

JonathanRosenhek, LevelI

Works Cited

(1) King, Martin Luther, Jr “The Christian Way of Life in Human Relations ” (public address, General Assembly of the National Council of Churches, St Louis, MO, December 4, 1957). https://kinginstitute.sites-pro.stanford.edu/kingpapers/documents/christian-way-life-human-relationsaddress-delivered-general-assembly-national

(2) “Love like the Ancient Greeks.” GreekReporter.com, September 30, 2023, https://greekreporter com/2023/09/30/love-like-a-greekthe-six-types-of-love-2/

(3) Popova, Maria. “An Experiment in Love: Martin Luther King, Jr on the Six Pillars of Nonviolent Resistance and the Ancient Greek Notion of ‘Agape ’” The Marginalian, https://www themarginalian org/2015/07/01/martinluther-king-jr-an-experiment-in-love/

(4) King, Martin Luther, Jr “Nonviolence and Racial Justice ” The Martin Luther King Jr Research and Education Insitute, February 6, 1957. https://kinginstitute.stanford.edu/kingpapers/documents/nonviolence-and-racialjustice#: :text=The%20nonviolent%20resister%20is%20j ust%20as%20strongly%20opposed,to%20persuade%20t he%20opponent%20that%20he%20is%20mistaken.

The Graduations The Graduations

Black and blue gowns and the magnolia trees want You dead

You're the favourite child, and isn’t that unfair? Hasn’t everyone worked harder than you?

But you know what’s important:

You keep quiet, take sides, hide in The corner and tell all their secrets because You’re scared and they left you and you’re useless otherwise.

In the morning, the sun, Her tentative rays shining wanly through the open window, Glory spilling into that room, Into

The cracks of your body

Your bed is smaller, and will you remember your promise?

Waking up to the half-light?

(“Don’tlistentothem I’veworkedtoohard;youcan’thatemeliketheydo ”)

Third grade you learn about

Negative numbers and absolutes and zero Is wherever you choose it to be, (“Thisisthedifferencebetweenyouandme”)

You don’t stop coughing through the ceremony and you don’t Stop sleeping

In your mother’s bed even

After they move away

You’re not nearly as smart but, you know What’s important; You know the garage code, How to shut down, how to speak soft, That dinners are Eaten in silence and You’re not any lonelier

After they leave

You know what’s important: You know hunger and half-light, How to stutter, and hide, and bleed; Soft knocks, sweat freezing; that you can play Cards by yourself and

That your bed was never big enough For two

“This is the difference between you and me”: It’s her glory, the sun, and the craven water, Yellow teeth and diplomas Pity and gauche laughter, Pollen allergies, a house built For four people, Eight hundred kilometres, your brother’s room The horizon is a decade’s breadth The sky burgeons and brightens and Spit ripples, miserly and You’re still waiting in the dark for everyone to come home (Whenthesunsmiles,thewatersmilesback)

“This is the difference between you and me”: And it’s an ugly bouquet and you should be ashamed But You tender with a half-hug Leave space between to not Crush the flowers.

LauraTang, LevelII

EmilyYang, LevelI

There’s this silly little movie you may have heard of, called Everything Everywhere All At Once Nothing I say can do it justice, just know that it is a marvelous, nonsensical, heart-wrenchingly beautiful movie. I don’t actually have anything eloquent to say about it (or ever), though Instead, I’m writing to externalize some half-baked thoughts about family and the ways in which we say and don’t say I love you

There’s this scene toward the end of the movie between the mother (Evelyn) and daughter (Joy). They’re at a breaking point in their strained relationship and Joy is about to just leave, thinking it would be better because when they’re together it hurts them both And Evelyn stops her and says:

Evelyn: [ ] no matter what, I still want to be here with you I always, always want to be here with you

It’s not as powerful in writing. Also less powerful because none of it can be taken out of the context of a movie about parallel universes, an entire movie that has been shaped so much by this mother-daughter relationship. But.

How do I explain how much it devastated me? I think this sort of reassurance hurts (in a good way) because the wording implies choice and acceptance. People can say “I love you” without truly meaning it. It can be conditional; it can be borne solely out of familial obligation. “I always want to be here with you” is Evelyn saying she actively wants to maintain her relationship with Joy, regardless of what alternate lives she could lead or what things Joy does that she dislikes And I think for a lot of people this is the love we crave from our family, from our loved ones For our presence to be wanted in their lives, no matter what

I go home and all my favourite foods are in the fridge I hug you for the first time in months and try not to cry We have maybe two days before my horrible sleep schedule and tendency to skip meals and general unproductivity become a problem For tonight, I sit with you at the dinner table and tell you about my life away from home I squeeze you in a hug again, just because, and you tell me I got skinnier, I need to eat better. I speak in Cantonese and the words are clumsy on my tongue and I forget more than remember the right phrases, but it feels right nonetheless I’m trying to learn Chinese again I’ve been listening to Chinese songs Do you know any of them?

In the scene from Everything Everywhere All At Once, Joy doesn’t accept her mom’s gesture of love right away

Joy: So what? You're just gonna ignore everything else? You could be anything, anywhere Why not go somewhere where your daughter is more than just this? [cont’d]

It’s too easy to see myself in Joy. Don’t you love always feeling inadequate? It’s scarily easy to slip into questioning why the people that love you, love you I think when it comes to family, that insecurity cuts a little deeper because there is a sense of duty It is not unique to immigrant families, but a common experience of children of immigrants is the heaviness of knowing that your parents gave up so much, left so much behind, to give you a “better life”. And we can problematize that narrative, but the guilt of not living up to your parents’ hopes remains. Add to that cultural and generational differences that sometimes feel like an ocean of distance impossible to sail across, and you get a fun mix of too many causes for fights When there is so much potential for hurt, what is the point? If all I ever do is fail my family, what reason do they have to keep holding on to me?

Joy: [cont’d] Here, all we get are a few specks of time where any of this actually makes any sense

Evelyn: Then I will cherish these few specks of time.

Sometimes I think love in other words, in other ways, might be the most meaningful

AliceQiu, LevelII

A Love Letter to My Mother

y pp g Sometimes it’s so hard to express my deepest gratitude, as I feel that is where my love for you began It began from the superficial emotion of admiration where you were a role model and guidebook for how I unraveled this world or how I projected myself verbally and physically How you have always been and have never failed to give me the sincerest respect of, not only your daughter, but a person, a woman How your intense love wraps around me like steel armor, so wicked powerful, but the shape and the formation comes from years of practice and lots of sweat like a blacksmith shaping their crafts

I talk about you a lot; more than you think or maybe you know how much I love to share. I’ve worn your love around like a shiny badge, always so proud you are my mother, forever grateful I was the lucky one.

Your eyes sparkle and I’m constantly mesmerized gazing in your light brown eyes, the warm gentle pool of love that they exert. I love how you are so full of life, so full of hope, how dedicated you are, how tenacious and how fierce Your battery is crazy it runs on solar panels on an island where the sun never sets and the weather is always two degrees too hot It burns those around you who are not genuine because your love is so strong but it also ignites willpower like how the sparks of passion work on others

You will always be my role model. I learn from your actions but teachings as well. You teach me life means passion; it means trying things even if I’m not ready to commit It means you and dad bought a piano when I was in grade 2 because I said I wanted to learn and without one it would be hard to practice at home after lessons Even though I gave up after less than a month and we had to give the piano away you were never disappointed that I didn’t learn piano like the other Asian kids growing up. You thought it was normal for me to have my likes and dislikes and only encouraged me to do what I wanted to do It means you let me sign up for ballet and allowed me to change my mind six years later and compete in judo tournaments across the province It means I never worried about how long I had to do something, instead, I let passion drive my perseverance and motivate me towards goals It means we moved from the prairies to the west coast because I once told you I loved the UBC campus and hoped to study there. And it means I had the option, even though we sold my childhood house and settled in a new province, to go to school somewhere completely different, just because I said I would regret not giving it a try But it also means now when any opportunity comes around, I take it I don’t care how long I can do

do it for, and I don’t care about the outcome until it happens Because everything I’ve tried so far I’ve learnt from, and I’ve grown. When I was cranky and moody from being tired after my part time job in high school and didn’t clean my room or wash the dishes even though you were working overtime too you didn’t get mad at me for prioritizing a minimum wage You saw how desperately I wanted to make my own allowance and how much pride I had when I bought you flowers or took you out for dinner And you said it made your heart ache seeing me so tired every day and did not want to give me more pressure by saying anything else, so you tiptoed around my sensitive feelings to let me do what I thought was important and learn my own lessons by living my own life Now working a minimum wage job only to have other parts of my life collapse seems stupid and pointless, but I needed to do it to see it myself

You were the one who told me the importance of the word “no” because you learnt it the tough way: through doing too many things you never wanted to do in the first place, through years and years of courage you had to provide for yourself because grandma was never good with her words and she loved you by actions instead I am so grateful I get both I’ve never related to the stories of Asian families being uncomfortable saying “I love you” to each other because our every phone call, every conversation, begins with “I miss you” and ends with “I love you too.” Because you text me “good morning my beautiful daughter” in the language you are not familiar with every morning when you wake up Because you text me you miss me and wish for me to call you when I have a chance Because you always motivate me and trust that I am doing the best I can, never doubting my abilities Because love to you is not selfish, it’s extreme selflessness stemming from the desire to want the other person to be happy and to wish them for their best, even if it does not benefit you.

You understand me on all levels because you say you were once a teenager too you say I deserve everything to and beyond the moon If there was something grandma did not let you have as a kid, you never punished me for it You always gave it to me sometimes in double. The love you have for the world the good and the bad surpasses the love you’ve ever given yourself. And in the most selfless way possible, I hope this changes. I hope you love yourself more than anything on this planet – I hope you are selfish and can express your desires without feeling uncomfortable I hope everyday you can be seven and want candy; or be 23 and want that expensive jacket or pretty lipstick; or be 35 and want to take a break from your children (me) and the real world and decide to have a girl’s night out on a weekday; or be 45 and blossoming! With pretty pink cheeks and smile lines to show the world that you’ve lived, you’ve cried, and you know how to have fun!

I love you mom Happy Valentine’s Day, but more importantly, happy everyday

WordsbyMaceyZhou, LevelII ArtbyVivianVuong,LevelII

Love(bird)Letters