When I was a little girl my mother used to say “You remind me too much of myself, don’t be like me.” In my mind I always thought there was no one else I would rather grow up to be like. I never understood why my mother would say such a thing. She was my protector, my healer, nothing could touch me as long as she was by my side, and I was going to be just like her no matter what. I began to walk like her, talk like her. I imitated every move she made, and still she would say, “don’t be like me.” In my mothers eyes I was worth more than what she was. In my eyes there was nothing worth more than my mother.
I never imagined how hard it would be to walk the path my mother had taken. It was long, dark, lonely, and full of many obstacles. My mother became pregnant at the age of fourteen. Her own mother was never around for her, and so she was left on her own to raise me and herself. She was judged for being such a young mother and often received dirty looks from older people who thought what she was doing was wrong. She struggled to find herself, to find who she was a young girl and a mother. She raised me to be respectful, to never let anyone take from me what I was not willing to give. Like my mother before me, I too had my daughter at an early age. I was only nineteen. Even though I wasn’t as young as my mother was when she had me I still had to endure the awkward glances and ridicule that followed. My mother wept for me the day I told her I was going to have a baby. Like Suyuan, my mother had placed all her hopes and aspirations on me. I would be the one to find my worth, to value the opportunity my mother had not been given the chance to take, and like June, I felt I had let her down. Her hopes and dreams that I would become successful, go to college, and never need to depend on a man or anyone else became just dreams. I had only graduated high school, was not married, and dependent on the baby’s father to provide a home, food, and shelter for us. I was plain, and simple, average at everything. I was June.
I had lost my spirit, like Ying-Ying, I felt I had no spirit to pass down to my daughters. I had not made the right choices; I had no college degree, no place of my own, nothing of value to pass on. I was showing my daughters the path my mother walked, the path I followed, the path I pray would disappear before they became old enough to follow its deceiving temptation. As time passed, I remained mostly at home, cleaning, cooking, doing the things a mother and wife were supposed to do. Eventually, I got a job to help with the bills and children’s expenses. Life became a routine, a dull, depressing routine. Now I understood why my mother told me not to be like her. She wanted me to be a mother and a wife, but she expected and hoped that I would experience life alone first, that I would do all the things she had wished she could do. My mother knew how demanding, how draining it could be to spend days locked up in a house or behind a desk, to have children who deserve nothing but total dedication. Once I had a family a part of me ceased to exist. My life was no longer about me.
What am I worth? I am worth struggle, sacrifice, hopes, and dreams. I am worth the spirit of my mother and her mother before her, and all the spirits of all the women who came before us. Like Suyuan, I will leave a feather for my daughters filled with all my good intentions. I will give them hope; I will dream with them,.I will see them for who they are and they will see me. I am worth eternity, for my spirit will pass to my future grand-daughters, and so on and I will never die. My spirit will float like the swan feather, giving hope and strength when it is needed. I am worth all the good intentions of all the generations of women who will come after me and learn from my struggles. I have worth.
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