don't give up on me yet

Mummie Dearest: Happy Mother's day. I've made it thru another year of disappointing you. And you've made it thru another year of being disappointed. Was it good for you too? Ah, I kid, I kid. It wasn't all that bad. I mean, remember that time when I took you to Costco and we didn't say a word to each other the entire ride there and back? Or the time when I took you to the doctor and we didn't say a word to each other the entire ride there and back? Yeah, good times. But you know, as Madonna says in Bedtime Story, words are useless, words lose their meaning. I don't believe in words as a form of communication. You know I love my mum. It's telepathic love, baby. More magical than your typical white-people, in-your-face, oh-look-I-sent-my-mommy-a-big-fancy-bouquet love.

In all seriousness, I honestly am sorry that none of your attempts to force a village-accented, mainland-Chinese girl on me has so far yield a happy ending. I am sorry that I am so damn westernized that I want a girl who appreciates Vonnegut and Dostoevsky and Godard. Actually I am sorry that I am such a pretentious prick. And superficial too. I am sorry that ironically, for my being such a fancy dreamer, my life has turned out to be so modest. I haven't given you much to work with; it's rather difficult to brag to your friends at the coffee shop in Chinatown or to our relatives about a son who has so little. Hey, at least I am not some drug addict who steals your Social Security checks or some pimp who runs a Southeast Asian prostitution ring (actually know someone from middle school who did this). I will never be a disgrace for what I do; I'll probably just be a disgrace for what I don't do. I go to the office, do my job, come home, watch tv, surf the web. Yeah, good times.

Yet, despite grumpy appearances, despite the rough exterior, please know that I am trying, in my very own way and my very own pace. I really do want to be a good human being, a good husband and a good father. I know it's hard to package this for the relatives, but I really have good morals and good ethics. And I really do appreciate your raising me and coming all the way to America just to give me an education and doing it all without a husband and working fourteen hours a day at the sewing factory. The depth of appreciation for all that I can never tie up all pretty with a bow, but if you are getting this telepathically, please know some of that effort did do some good. It's a mountain I am climbing, slowly and surely. I don't know how to do it another way. I only know how to follow my heart and love my art and daydream about big things. If the expectations are too lofty and the dreams too silly, it's not coming from a bad place. Misguided, maybe, but never bad. So don't give up on me yet. There is more to this fictional story. Stick around for the rest. With many happy Mother's Day to come.