A Misguided Definition of Motherhood
A tribute to the strongest woman I know
Happy Mother’s Day.
Kuv hlub koj.
Niam, koj zoo li thaj av uas cog cov nplej siav. Mother, you are like the soil that grows the rice. You are the foundation of growth. You protect and provide. You have the ability to bear roots and make them grow. You’ve taught me what your definition of a mother is; “Yus yuav tsum ua txhua yam rau yus cov menyuam, yus thiaj li yog ib leej niam zoo.” (Translation: You have to do everything for your children, or you won’t be a good mother.)
I’m sorry Mom, but I think your definition is misguided.
Niam, koj zoo li tsob ntoo uas tawg paj ua ntej lub noob. Mother, you’re a tree that blossomed before the seed. You’ve been a mother since you were five. Your first kids were the little ones by your side. You were never treated like a child. You didn’t grow up, you were born grown. You were raised as a provider. You didn’t go to school because you needed to make money. Even when you made money, it was never yours. There were mouths to feed, paj ntaub to sew, and crops to tend to. You were soft-spoken, shy, and always anxious. Your identity has never seen the light. Although war was already over, the fight for your future had just begun.
As you blossomed in your teens, you said that you’ve always wanted to go to America like the other families who were leaving in the early 80’s. You had dreams that your parents couldn’t see. You envisioned yourself as a Hmong woman in education, you tell me to this day. You tell me now about all your “should’ve, could’ve, and would’ves” and I listen and think about my “I shall, I can, and I wills” because you gave me the opportunity to do so. You begged your parents to come to America, but each time, they reminded you of your duty as a “khaub ntxhais.”
Tsob paj tawg tsis tau yog tsis muaj dej ywg. A flower cannot blossom without water. Mother, I’m sorry no one was your water.
It was never your goal, but you married my father. It broke your heart parting ways with your siblings. Explaining to your first family that you had to leave them for another is the hardest thing about being a Nyab in your generation. Your family quickly realized how much they took you for granted. You weren’t allowed to have feelings. You cried alone and you cried quietly. In separation did you learn about the tortuous journey of distance. With no cell in hand, or without the knowledge of how to write, you’d send voice tapes through the rare travelers that’d appear once in a while. Despite how much you wanted to return to your own family, you’ve managed to be apart from them for 33 years.
Tsob paj uas tsis muaj dej yuav tsum ywg yus tus kheej. A flower with no water must learn to water itself. Mother, your tears have fed your growth over the years.
You are 49 years old now. You are my mother. You still live in the past, and I remind you everyday that you are here with me. I want you to see my accomplishments, the ones that you wanted for yourself. Every fighting bone within your body, I’ve taken it for myself when I was born. I’m not sorry for that because my success is forever yours. The scars that you’re ashamed of marks the existence of your six children. You told me tonight, your greatest success in life is raising six children who are successful in wealth, health, and love.
Thaum lub paj tawg tag, lub paj yuav poob mus ua av. After a flower blossoms, it will become one with the soil. Kuv niam, koj yog daim av rau koj 6 tus menyuam. Mother, you are the soil for your six children.
After being your child for 21 years, I believe I understand what the love of a mother is. A mother is not a caretaker, a babysitter, or a maid. A mother is a mentor, a dream giver, a partner in crime, and more. A mother is the first person to teach you true and unconditional love. All my life, I’ve seen you hand out a piece of your heart to people who don’t deserve it. You’ve had me wondering how many times your heart can take it. You say that love is to be given, but not expected in return. I’ve seen plenty of times where those you’ve trusted have taken a piece of your heart and ran. You’re only human so you shout, you cry, and you curse. You say you can’t take it anymore, but you decide to leave it as a lesson learned.
Mom, I want you to understand that I love you not only because you’ve sacrificed your whole life for me, but because you’ve managed to break out of your hidden persona and show your true self. You used to listen and obey and now you’re able to stand on your morals and beliefs. I see that motherhood has taught you how to fight for your children, in which one day, I will do for mine. However, today, I am rich with the blessing of having a mother like you. Through our ups and downs, you remain the strongest and most vulnerable woman I know.
Daim luaj pua yuav nyob mus ib txhim. The Earth will continue to live forever, just like your love, mom.
