To My Mother

My mom is the kind of person you can't quite put into words. Ever since I got into poetry (circa 7th grade), I told myself that one day I'd write the greatest poem known to man about my mother. And believe me, I tried. But every possible effort felt fruitless because none of them ever measured up to who she truly was. I could never bring myself to show her any of my drafts because they were all incomplete. I started over again and again and never seemed able to finish––I wanted it to be perfect because she didn't deserve anything less. Here I am, years later, still with an impossible number of drafts and exactly zero finished products. It occurred to me that time is a luxury though, and one cannot waste it attempting to grasp perfection. I decided instead to post them anyway, all in their incomplete glory, in the hopes that some combination of words is the right one.

Here goes nothing.

..........

To My Mother

My mom can't cook.

Forget the lessons, the step-by-step recipes, and the easy-bakes.

There are reasons Mami doesn't step foot in the kitchen...

My mom can't sing, either.

Try as she might, the notes are never there and no matter how many times she blasts the radio in the car, something about her tuning is always off.

Nonetheless, that's never stopped Mami.

She made her own rules. She set her own limits.

Besides that, no one determined what would get in her way.

..........

Mami, I love you so <3

My mom is not a large person.

In fact, I tower one entire inch above her mere 5'1.

My mom is not a large person.

She never learned to cook, or clean, or swim, or sew.

Still, my mom is the #1 most badass person I know.

My mom grew up a rebel.

"Now, what straight A, valedictorian student becomes a rebel?" you might ask.

Well, my mom is made of fire, you see.

She pops, and flickers, and crackles.

She's warm until you bite her, then she burns.

My mom is so cool, she learned calculus over the phone.

My mom is so rad, she ran a marathon with bronchitis.

My mom is so awesome, presidents from all over the world have wanted to meet with her.

My mom is so fabulous, she was crowned Reina de Ocoa at age six.

My mom is so sick, she owned a skateboard in college.

My mom is not perfect.

She has little patience, is always right and can't pronounce the word "vegetables."

But my mom is heroic.

She left her homeland at seventeen, learned English on her own and was the first in her family to go to college.

I'm telling you––my mom is a LEGEND.

..........

Dear Mami:

I know you're probably mad I haven't called you in the past hour. Listen, life gets busy, I can't be calling you every time the weather changes (here, it's every five minutes...)

I just wanted to say thanks, I guess.

For, well... everything.

You sacrifice a hell of a lot and I hope you know it doesn't go unappreciated.

Hey, Mami, you know... uh... well, I guess we don't always agree on stuff, but that doesn't mean I love you any less.

I know you don't understand how I can possibly love girls AND boys, but thank you for still loving me.

I know you will never understand my crippling anxiety, but Mami, it's okay. I forgive you.

You grew up in a world where survival was the only way out. Sacrifice was the only lifeline and courage, a necessary resource.

You grew up hot-headed, thick-skinned, determined and with a thirst to succeed like no other.

See, Mami, you gave me that same thirst.

Except my thirst to succeed has never been quenched.

Instead of praise, my body punishes itself if it does not have the strength to go on.

See, mi cuerpo, Mami, was not built to endure a life like yours.

Mi mente, Mami, was not structured with the inches thick of buffers that block out killing machines of the world around.

You are petite, but you're built like a stone wall.

Mami, you are a fortress.

Everything you hold dear, you protect. You are fierce with defense and baptized with respect.

You fear no coward, you fear no villain.

You grew up a dragon with a fire burning so hot, it could melt hatred and turn arrows to stone.

Mami, you say I am your dragon but I have yet to breathe a single spark and someday I am hoping to become a fortress as well but I feel as though the only building materials I've been given are ash.

I cannot build from the ash, Mami. I am not a phoenix. I cannot rise again, like you did.

You have so much strength. You know nothing but perseverance. Mami, I know nothing but defeat.

Your child, I am nothing but the shadow in your flames.

Everyone says I am just like you, but Mami, can't they see that I am weaker? Not tougher, not keener.

I am nothing but me. Plain Maya. Nothing more.

I cannot be you. You have done so much more.

How do they expect me to do it?

Where do I even begin?

So you see, Mami, I have anxiety, and I know you don't quite understand it because you grew up in a world where there simply wasn't enough room for that. Only the fittest would survive, so you did.

Mami, I live in a world where perfection is everything.

Image is everything. Legacy is everything.

How must I take on such an enormous legacy when you are divine?

I simply cannot recreate your success story, please forgive me.

My fears blockade the way.

I hope you still have room enough in your heart for me.

..........

Three unedited, erroneous attempts.

Oh whale, at least I tried.

Hasta la próxima,

Much love xoxo

Maya