Hey mom...

Hey mom,

Today is your day. And it’s the first time I remembered all by myself, without you telling me—part joke, part truth maybe.

I guess this letter is long overdue to reach you; but it’s been almost 24 years anyway and I kind of owe you this much.

I don’t often tell you, but I love you. In my own weird, socially awkward way, I do. Perhaps you sometimes realize that much, perhaps you wish I would tell you more often. Perhaps you think it unfair that other people may get to hear it, more often than you do, from me.

But that’s because I do admire you in my own way and, trust me, you’ve always intimidated me a bit. In the best way possible, don’t get me wrong. Mothers always want the best for their children and see things in them that others do not.

Perhaps mothers are subjective in general, perhaps a little pushy in a way. Sometimes even a bit needy. Many project their desires onto their children, want to control their life and do not let them spread their own wings; or when they do, they make sure there is a discreet, long, but firm leash.

I cannot thank you enough for doing none of those things to me. I can only imagine how terrifying it is to see your children grow up, leave home, fall in love, get heartbroken, get disappointed by life or any other thing that you cannot protect them from because they are not 5 years old anymore. I can only imagine how it is to see your child sad, depressed and be unable to do nothing about it. It takes great courage to let your child to take a spill, eat some dust and learn from his or her own mistakes.

It takes magnificent courage to always be there for me; both you and dad. It takes extreme courage to always have an open ear and an open heart. It  takes an especially good stomach to actually stand the never-ending arguments that your son (yes, that’s me, don’t get lost here mom) likes to have with you over a number of issues; you know how much I love arguing.

Most of all, it takes a great heart to constantly worry about your children but not burden them because, all in all and in the end, you are proud of how they grow and evolve; and you want to see them continue to do so. Even if that means they might travel farther and farther away from you, even if that it means you’ll only see them twice a year.

I don’t easily show affection mom, but I find extremely funny –and touching– that if I upload, on the notorious social media, a song that might seem sad, you will take it literally and worry about me. Sometimes you’ll message me or even call me. And sometimes you might be right, you know. But that’s a whole other story.

I remember, when I was really young, you would complain that other mothers knew more about what concerns me at school than you did because I never told you anything. And I guess that same thing persists as I grow up; though now I know that it’s stupid.

I am trying to be more expressive, and that is hard for me. Gender roles are hard to escape from, and you’ll be happy to know that you raised a son that realizes that. I am not afraid to cry, and I don’t consider that a weakness. You raised a son –actually two sons (I didn’t forget you, brother)– that treat and will treat their partner with the same respect and affection as they treat you. You raised, and still raise and nurture, good people mom.

I am not oblivious to all the hard work you and dad put in to raise us. It took me some years to realize the true extent of your hard labors, but I see it now. Even if I don’t show it, you are an example to be followed.

Thank you for never pushing me to do anything that I didn’t want to do for my future. Thank you for letting me make my own mistakes and succeed in my own endeavors. And thank you for understanding, and for trying to understand even if sometimes you couldn’t no matter how hard you tried.

I know you are here for me.

And I love you with all my heart.

Happy mother’s day mommy.

Your son, seven thousand miles away from home sends you his warmest wishes and love.

P.S.1. (I still like dark clothes so please don’t force bright colors on me though. And god, no shirts either.)

P.S.2. Dad don’t get jealous. I love you too. More on that on Father’s Day – which I forget when it is. But I owe you one.