This is about my mama because I’m too stubborn, too proud, too self-conscious to tell these things to her in person. I’ll backpack around with luggage until I gain enough substance to face it head-on. For now, I’m simply going to make excuses and say that I’m too green to face this— pride(?) Perhaps sheepish-ness is a more suited term. English doesn’t wield such a single term that encases this feeling to its extent.

My birthday is December 30, five days after Jesus’s and one day before New Year’s Eve. It is the perfect day to be born if, like me, you prefer your birthday slide by unnoticed. I never had to bring any classroom cupcakes. Not a single black streamer hung from my office door on my fortieth, which suited me just fine.

At first I didn’t even realize you were there. You sprung up seemingly overnight, but I shouldn’t have been surprised. I was thirteen, my body already changing in all kinds of ways.

This was where my family had recently settled after we became refugees for a second time during the 1974 war. On the 13th, one day before I departed for the US for my higher education under a private sponsorship, I packed my suitcase. Then, I carefully selected a few photographs of my family and of myself to take with me to America. The same day I was packing, my mother gave me a few gifts. These gifts became my most valued possessions, and I am proud to say I still have them.

Dear Catherine,

You are a girl. You’re proud of that. You’ve always loved attention, whether your modesty shows or not. You love showing off your talents, presenting yourself well, feeling beautiful, and having friends and family around to support you. As you get older, you will find things start to change.

Dressed in a salwar kameez, I twirled and danced inside my room. I loved my long red tunic, the loose flowing pants and the sweeping scarf looped around my neck