Love. Wife’s love, mother’s love, sibling love.  I witness love applied in very generous and uplifting ways by my mother.  Do I believe my mom’s love sustained our family for a time?  By sheer force, Mama Book’s strength lifted our spirits and kept out dark thoughts with anything less than positive feelings.  Her love with her faith and incredible hope carried our family through dark times.  Often I hear the following verse quoted in weddings, but my mom practices her brand of love in just this way.

My mother didn’t have an easy time giving life to me. In fact, she nearly lost hers bringing me into the world. She spent her time, finances and overall health making sure I was still breathing. I owe a lot to my mother, but there is one thing that I will always be indebted to her for - giving me the ability to feel.

Mom
in Texas
you hang a picture over your bed
of a silhouette lost like a wrinkle
in the folds of the desert
you understand
at 19 and an immigrant
one-way plane ticket from Hong Kong

hen I was 14, I walked into a church youth lock-in and fell head-over-heels in love with the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.  I immediately knew four things: 

1.     I liked a girl.  A lot.

2.     I was a girl.

3.     Girls couldn’t like girls.

4.     This was an especially bad situation given that I was at church.

I never really confided in my family about who I dated. My attitude towards dating was nothing like my parents'. I saw dating as a series of experiments that eventually lead to something amazing or absolutely nothing. My parents, on the other hand, moved in together on their second date and didn't approve of me dating anyone that wasn't a potential marriage prospect for me. SO to avoid conflict I just didn’t talk to them about who I was dating. I figured if my feelings for someone ever stuck then I would tell my parents. I don't like most people so I thought I was pretty safe from having that "I'm a lesbian talk.”

I cannot recall how we even started chatting about lesbianism. We hadn’t known each other very long, maybe just a few months. I remember thinking how I would be kinda of nervous to bring up something like that with someone I barely knew, but really loved how open and comfortable Emma was in conversation.

After shaving my head for the first time at 21, I suddenly, for the first time in my life, had game. That whole summer was a glorious festival of flirting with the brave and visible queer ladies of Ann Arbor, Michigan. We danced like goddesses at Necto nightclub on Pride night, leaving the straight males alone in their college-night shark tank.

Dear Ashley,

It's Sunday morning and I'm driving to work. I'm taking the back roads to avoid the freeway and I just saw a deer. I drove past the yoga place that you only went to once, but swear you'll go back. Past the theater that always makes you question if you should audition for a part, but then quickly reminds you of the one time you did and bombed, so embarrassingly racked with stage fright you didn't know you had. 

Dear Early 20's Me I kind of miss you,

The infamous early 20’s… subject of endless blog posts and time of self-exploration and a time when freedom clashes with adulthood before you find yourself in the sea of matching houses in a strangely named suburb somewhere on the outskirts of a city. Doesn’t feel like your future? Don’t worry; I can assure you that is where you are headed, happily. It’s not a sad existence, it’s everything you want right now, but there are some funny things you learn on the road to get there.

Dear Me: 

You aren’t perfect. You don’t have to be perfect. You will never be perfect. 

I know that’s difficult to consider, especially because you strive for it. I know it’s painful to accept because you simply want to please those expecting you to be perfect. But you aren’t. And you

won’t be. 

And it’s okay.

Oh, Meredith.

There are so many things I wish I could go back and tell you to save you from years of pain. I sit here at almost 26 thinking, perhaps a little arrogantly, about how much I’ve learned in the past year or so and how much I’ve changed. I think about how life would be different if these tiny revelations had happened just a year sooner, but then I realize there’s no point in wondering. It doesn’t change anything that happened in the past. It only changes how I move forward.

Dear Kelsey,

You think too much. No really, you do.

For years, that thinking paid off in big ways. You got the best grades, earned a spot in the Ivy League and charted a course for yourself from dreams to reality.

Dearheart, I write to you as you are on that November night in 2007,

In 9 years, you will not believe that it is possible for humans to hear the voice of an anthropomorphic supernatural entity recognized by the Christian church to be the creator of the universe. But here's the thing that you will never get over: you are going to think that you hear a very clear message tonight at your campus ministry's worship service.

Dear Past Me: You Can Handle the Heat…Stay in the Kitchen.

Your cooking skills are rough. And they will get worse before they get better. I know because I have eaten the burnt rice, the quinoa that could crack a tooth, and the Hamburger Helper meals that managed to morph into pureed cheeseburger just by being in the oven. I’ve had more than my fair share of pots boiling over, Styrofoam melting in the microwave, and a meal consisting of solely a raw onion. You are likely at the point in life where you have accepted rice will always be dry and crunchy.

Dear 18 -Year-Old Lizzy, 

It’s me, Liz. Liz who? It’s Liz-Your-Future-Self coming at you from the not-so-distant future of 2016. Yes, I officially go by Liz now, and most people are cool with that (except sometimes your family, as you’ll always be their Lizzy/Lizardbreath/Bohunkis-Face, sorry girl).

At seventeen, I was unsure of myself as a young woman who had just graduated high school, realizing that it was time to be a grown up and to add insult to injury, becoming a mother in a time when the internet was just jumping on the chastise-mothers-for-everything bandwagon.

When I became a mom I became many things -protector, guide, teacher, and emotional support, to name a few. I am also slowly becoming someone I don't recognize or like. As a mother I have transformed in ways more powerful than I ever imagined. Including transforming me into someone I didn't think I would become. 

It’s just a shame that some women choose to formula feed.

Everyone knows breast milk is best for babies! They are smarter and healthier-

Less likely to be obese!

I can always tell the difference between babies who are breastfed and formula fed-

They stop suddenly as I walk through the door, unsure whether or not I, the as-far-as-I-know-it only mom who formula feeds her baby, had overheard their conversation.

"I'm so excited mama!" Exclaims my 3 year old son, after an exhausting day of shopping. "I'm so excited for Christmas."

These words bring a flood of thoughts to my mind. Being a Muslim American, this is the first time I will have to explain to him the Muslim perspective on the most prominent display of religion in the U.S., Christmas. 

I remember lying under the church pew as a child.

“How much longer?” I would loudly whisper to my mother, my 7-year-old self never knowing how to wait.

“Not long,” she would answer, her faithful, copper brown eyes never losing focus. Her attention was glued to the altar. She was an Episcopalian to the core. And, meanwhile, I couldn’t even pronounce the word.