Dear Ma

Thank you for buying me a queen size bed.
This may sound small, but it symbolized so much. It symbolized your support for what would become my first serious relationship; one in which I thought would be "forever". It symbolized your support in knowing that my boyfriend at the time and I would be sharing this bed when he would come over nearly every weekend, and your support and understanding that we were a sexually active couple. I had no idea that first night sleeping with him on my old twin would bring about a new bed. I was blown away. It symbolized your support in meeting him from the internet, when you had been so weary of other men I tried to meet. You welcomed him with open arms. Why? Why him?

I fear that bed has too many memories. If I ever come home, I am not sure I want to sleep with ghosts.

Thank you for not pressuring me to get married, or have kids.
For the 5 years that I was in a relationship, you did not badger me to ask when we were getting married. You did not pass judgment when we chose to cohabitate instead. All my life, you have compared me to other people but you did not step your bounds when my bestfriend got married, and I was a bridesmaid, yet again. For the fourth time. You kept quiet on her special day and did not pressure me. You did not shame me for not getting married when all my highschool friends have done so. A lot of people feel pressure from society to get married, and even more pressure from their family to do so. I am thankful that I don't have to deal with this, as I would utterly break.

Despite your overprotectiveness, and critical judgments throughout my life, you have allowed me to grow freely as an adult.

And kids.. I won't even go there. Thanks for not going there with me.

Thank you for not questioning the break-up.
You didn't ask or press for details about my break-up at the time when I was still hurting the most. You don't ask me now, and I doubt you ever will. You know it's best to leave water under the bridge. It's still a sensitive subject, so thank you.

Thank you for putting up with me.
I'm a fucking pain in the ass. I just hung up on you today because I hate talking to you on the phone. I'm a horrible daughter. I hate it when you ask about Mother's Day or what I ate for dinner or if I'm cooking. I'm not domesticate. I'm just not. I wish you'd quit bothering me about that. You put up with my anger. You put up with all my shit. I'm finding it harder to feel justified for my defensive behavior and it makes me feel like a horrible person. It's a defense mechanism. It's almost a reflex reaction. "I can't help it." Or can I? I don't know how to stop. I feel so ashamed. I hate myself sometimes. There's no excuse for my shitty behavior. I want to stop.

Thank you for being supportive of my decisions.
When I told you I wanted to paint a mural in my bedroom for a senior project I would have thought you'd say no. Instead, you embraced the idea and allowed me to paint my pale pink walls a bright hot pink, blue and orange. What kind of parents do that!? It blew me away. It's still on my bedroom wall, relics of my teen years epitomizing life; like water flowing through the hands of time in fluid motion. Time is like that: fluid. Not linear. Tangible yet unable to grasp. Slipping through our hands like grains of sand.

When I told you I wanted to transfer to the Art Institute, I would have thought you'd say no or protest due to expense. I never thought it was possible for me, but thanks to you and dad, it was. When lots of families pressure their kids to pursue "practical" careers rather than the arts, you were behind me in my decision to major in graphic design in a college that I felt would give me better skillsets than university. You have encouraged me as an artist and a creative person. I know my creativity isn't to be stifled by you. Thank you.

When I told you I wanted to live in the Philippines I wasn't sure what you'd say. You've embraced my thoughts and choices every step of the way. I realize you just want to see me happy.

I realize I want that too.

Thank you.