Imaging a Diagnose with the Mother Nature

Imagining A Diagnose with the Mother Nature

“As mothers, the greatest gift we can pass on to our children is a healthy planet.”

- From the movie, To the Arctic (2012)

I am sitting in my office and looking down on the chaotic downtown traffic from the fiftieth floor in a deluxe apartment in downtown Manhattan. My eyes are dazzled by the blinking car rear red-lights, the flashing commercials of blue beach vacation on the TV screens, the yellow mad taxis blocking the intersections, the constant collisions of the pedestrians, wearing various colored fashion-clothing and passing each other with icy-cold despises. Yet, I am still searching for one more color that has been missing in this “colorful” city, which is the green of nature, since the year I moved to the city I gained my high reputation on television and newspaper in a health consultant career.

 When I am indulging in the urban fantasy, a sequence of anxious phone rings bough me onto my glass office desk. I confidently picked up the phone and answered, “Good morning, this is Dr.Chen, how can I solve your problems today?”

  She requested, “I need some professional consultation for my family’s health.” Her voice is so gentle that is making me feel like a warm breeze in the frosty wintertime. I tapped to open my calendar on the mini iPad, and then typed her name, Mrs. Nature.

On the next day, I decided to travel on my feet to meet with Mrs. Nature in a small countryside town for her diagnose appointment. Along the roadsides, I am looking at the deciduous Norway maple in this town with its paired winged samaras seeds were ready to disperse and impact the diversity as an invasive tree. Beyond the Norway maple territory, it is the simple and alternate leafed, Japanese knotweed that was unfriendly occupying in the understory. It is not like what I expected for a countryside view. Instead, I expected to enjoy the compound leafed white ash has the light brown and diamond shaped bark grids in the summer, or the golden to reddish color of the lobed sugar maple leaves in the fall. I did not expect to see the overloaded trash bin with a nauseated smell is disgusting my sense of smell. However, that nauseated smell works well with the two black gasoline dashes from the car exhausters behind. My GPS is indicating that it would take me another 30 minutes to arrive at Mrs. Nature. After 20 minutes, I finally arrived by speeding up my pace and struggling through the unpleasing landscape.

When I arrived, I saw a smiling and elegant lady wandering on the porch.

“Come on in. I was afraid that you’ve gotten lost”, Mrs. Nature said while she was rushing to step down the porch stair. She grabbed my hands and continued, “I am glad to have you come and help my family”. Based on her begging tone and an old-looking hunchback, I noticed that some problems have been consuming her life for decades. It is going to be a difficult case that I never have consulted before, I thought as she was leading me into the house.

It is a modern and conceptual house.

 “Your house is futuristic, Mrs. Nature”, I complemented, but in fact I was condescending.

Mrs. Nature is pointing straight ahead and complaining, “The advanced electronics are belong to my sons and daughter for a home, which they believed would lead to a better future”. I followed her direction as my vision is brightening up by the permeating heart-warming sunlight through the closing down white window curtains. It is a small room but I am appreciating for everything, from the elongating lime vines from the ceiling, the fully blooming dark violet orchids with buzzing bees in the left corner, the naturalistic waterfall that is nourishing the light green and dark green mosses on the oval gravels. A breeze of jasmine tea is settling us on the bamboo chairs facing the floor windows, where I am wondering to peak behind the curtains. I am feeling back home.      

She placed down the flowery teacup on the knee-high marble table and stares at the beige wall on the right with her soft eyes, where two neat and long rows of photos that are framed with waxing tree twigs.

“They are my family. They need your professional help and treatments”, she said and slowly holds my hands tightly. I turned to her and saw a face of a kind mother, who has worries and concerns for her family throughout her entire life. Her welcoming smile is shining at me. However, I notice that the sorrow in her eyes is overcoming her firmness into rolling tears. “The first photo on the top row is taken of my oldest daughter. She has a beautiful name, the United States, which is given by a friend of mine. She has two lovely sons. California is the older one and he has been struggling with autism since 1990 and gets worse in 2001”, she said while placing her left hand on her chest.  He looks handsome in gold, because he is pinching golden fedora that has a grizzly bear walking on a patch of forest green grass and a red star in the upper left corner. “There’s genetics and there’s environment, Hertz-Picciotto. He is my colleague and currently a great researcher at UV Davis’s M.I.N.D. Institute, he suggested the mystery of increasing autism cannot be explained by changes in doctors’ diagnoses¹”, she said with sobbing.

“Has Mrs. United States encountered any environmental impacts during pregnancy, including pesticides, viruses and chemical in household products¹? Theoretically, any pregnant woman exposures to chemicals could a big trigger to autism, such as flame retardants used in furniture and electronics, and pyrethroid insecticides, even the phthalates in cosmetics¹”, I continued after she nodded in silence.

“What will be the cost for a treatment?” She asked.

“The studies are still in progress and a higher cost will be expected to fund the ongoing studies¹”, I said while I am away from her eyes.

The shinning sunlight began to heat up this green room. My eyes are tracing the elongating tree shadow on the floor, and feeling the energy that is driven by one single tree, even a falling leaf or the energy from the osmotic mechanism of roots. Mrs. Nature knobbed after I confirmed the potential costs, then she pointed at the man next to California.

“Washington is her second son. He is now a rich man, but in malnutrition health condition. It is because that he has been suffering in his consequences”, she is talking and looking deprecated with an elbow on the chair handle. “Over years, he turned what was once grew in the mountains into his own wealth. The monopolistic murder, he is now named by those who had their families buried in the mud from the unstable terrain landslides²”, she whispered with regrets. “Doctor, he needs salvations for his soul and actions”, said Mrs. Nature between the two wrinkled and freckled palms on her face.

“What is done is done. Mr. Washington’s salvations are in his hands. A destroyer can be the creator.” I paused and continued, “It is not too late to realize the mistakes. The importance is to carry on with reproaches and do the right things will be the solution.” After our discussions, I finally saw a hopeful look of her face. However, she is losing her hope with other merging concerns from her two younger sons, China and Britain, one wears a red shirt with yellow stars and another wears a blue shirt with red stripes in the photo. However, the photo is too blurry to see any details.

“Airpocalypse is China’s nickname by a negatively impacting friend in his rapid development stage”, said Mrs. Nature.

“How is he or she changing China?” I asked curiously.

She closed her eyes and said, “She first walked into China’s life like a dense morning fog with her coal-black eyes. And now, China is trapping in a city of ghost that has no business and lacks of blue sky³. However, China is obsessing about her that he always tells this, ‘I love her coal-black eyes, and they are my main energy source to move on’. Instead, everyone knows that China really needs blue-sky days³.”

“China must be aware of his own changes and identify the source of problems”, I suggested.

“What about Britain? He is younger than China and has been fighting for the same ‘misty’ girl with China, but worsen with some triggering health problems”, she is taking down the photo from the wall as she continued, “The Southern European Sahara dust and continent light-wind, but more important is that he lives in an industrialized city with heavy car emission⁴. That combination is causing him to suffer with lung problems when he was a young man and now it is developing into a heart problem as he grows older⁴.” I am in touching by an endlessly concerning mother, like Mrs. Nature for her family from days to nights, as I am walking toward her.

Right before I came to a final diagnosis for her family health; I am distracting by a hopeless view via a narrow open space between the curtains. There is a tree that is not like what I have seen before. It has some peeled branches are appearing the deadly grayish and white barks, while some various shaped leaves are struggling to hold on on the yellowing twigs, they are in piping plovers, blue whales, snow leopards shape.

“It is the tree of life”, Mrs. Nature whispered to me.

 After that, I turned to gaze at the beyond sea level, where has millions of small islands appearing above the sea surface. Mrs. Nature seems to notice my confusion, so she said, “those were used to be large lands, and where had green trees that rooted into rich soil for the large canopies and song birds are nesting and feeding. One of the islands is named Bangladesh, Dakope, is going to be another undersea civilization⁵.” There, I see vegetables are struggling to grow in the salt-water poisoned soil or mug while other massive lands are releasing heats.

“Mrs. Nature, according to my experiences in health consulting firm over years, I have come to a conclusion for your family health problems. It is to develop a harmonical relationship with other human beings. In order to do so, they have to confront those unflavored truths with a strong willing and belief to solve the problems, alter any existing and achieve profound goals for a long term, some of them may not indicate any time attainable signs. However, with your great motherhood, I believe they will be recover from any consequences”, I said out into her eyes with determination of my diagnose for her.

References

Castle, S. (2014, Apr. 2) Pollution and Dust in Britain Bring Health Warnings. The New York Times. Retrieved from http://www.nytimes.com/2014/04/03/world/europe/britain-pollution.html?ref=science&_r=0

Cone, M. (2009, Jan. 9). New Study: Autism Linked to Environment. Scientific American. Retrieved from http://www.scientificamerican.com/article/autism-rise-driven-by-environment/

Harris, G. (20014, Mar. 28) Borrowed Time on Disappearing Land. The New York Times. Retrieved from http://www.nytimes.com/2014/03/29/world/asia/facing-rising-seas-bangladesh-confronts-the-consequences-of-climate-change.html?hp

Knickerbocker, B. (2014, Mar. 28) Washington mudslide: logging eyed as contributing cause. The Christian Science Monitor. Retrieved from http://www.csmonitor.com/USA/2014/0328/Washington-mudslide-logging-eyed-as-contributing-cause

Wong, E. (2013, Oct. 24) Response to a City’s Smog Points to a Change in Chinese Attitude. The New York Times. Retrieved from http://www.nytimes.com/2013/10/25/world/asia/smoggy-days-in-harbin-prompt-quick-reaction.html

From a Chance of Encounter to a Long Lasting Friendship

By Shuwen Chen

I believed that life is a stage of drama; expectedly, those movie scenes were recalling my thoughts and feelings about friendships that I built with people in my pure childhood that I am willing to keep and recall, or the realistic adulthood that I must learn from.

Ru and I were met in the only school that near us. Our village was separated into wealthier villagers lived on the hill and the common people who lived down hill. , but we were united as a village. In that austere, but class differentiated village, has kept all our precious childhood memories.

We were in the same grade, studied in the same school and lived in the same village. However, we did not meet until a random class arrangement that made she became my deskmate when we were nine. We both enjoyed the rumor of our nickname, the black and white queens, and spreading out in school. Despite our personalities or family backgrounds, we have destined to be friends, we are like peas and carrots and that all began on the second to the last tables in the second column in a new classroom for the fourth grade.  

The school was located in the middle of some farmlands, and it was reconstructed in the summer without any outdoor facilities; it was simply a piece of flat square meter concrete on top of the earth. All students from first grade to fifth were studied in a four-floored academic building, where a new dome for teachers was in between the new building and the pre-school that was relocated in the old school parts. Our classroom had a row of bright and tall windows on the left wall. In class, Ru would turned her head to me and gazed at the scenic view outside of those windows, where a laddered mountain front side has grown some glossing green commercial longan and lychee fruit trees. At the mountain foot, a quiet lake that reflected the image of the lakeside vegetation has disturbed by flying barn swallows into waterline.

During the school days, we spent most of our time on pen drama on the tables, even if there was a lecture. Before the show time, we combined two tables be the stage, each table was a house. Alternatively, we used our textbooks to make curtains, dinner tables and bedrooms. The slim or light colored pens were always the actresses, while others were actors. For each show, we set up a meeting scene, either at a coffee shop or in a library, where the leading actress unintentionally dropped a book on the floor and the leading actor picked it up. At the moment when the actor passed that book, then they fell in love at the first sight. Our performing vessels were solid and not real; so, we had to use our imagination with vocal expression and movements to present the emotions. Ru and I were the directors, producers, filmmakers and voice speakers.

“What happened there”, our Chinese teacher asked on the teaching platform. I quickly felt that my classmates were laughing at me. I looked at Ru confusedly with my eyes winking, “what happened”, I whispered. Ru looked forward and calm as she was slightly writing on her notebook: People heard your scripts. You were too excited. My face turned red instantly, but I could not resist chuckling few. After couple weeks of performing, our “shows” finally gathered some royal audiences around our tables when there was a class break, which also consisted of some students from other classes.

Good times went by and we were still randomly arranged in a same class, but different tables when we were in fifth grade. In a causal hot summer day, we walked with the hidden cicadas in the shades chirping rhymes on the flaky tree barks and the village was embraced under a visually arching and miles-wide blue sky. We were inseparable like forms and shadows under the burning and hung-highly sun.

Our shadows were finally connected with the vigorous mulberry and guava tree shades that bloom in the summer with a sugarcane plantation around my house. I was stronger than Ru, that led me to be a good tree climber so that I could climb every single tree and pick the ripen guava. I would throw them to Ru, while she was picking the dark purple mulberries on the lower branches and placing them into a plastic basket. Within ten minutes, our tacit teamwork conquered the humid summer. After that, we sat on the washed to smooth gravels and placed our feet in the limpid stream that flowed across the entire village. Our basket of fruits was tied with a long stripe on a banian tree and being washed in the slow and cold flowing water. In the insufferable hot summer days of our childhood, under a shady and cool banian tree, which held up a future that we dreamed being grown up,

When we had to bike a two-hours round trip to our junior high school, my mom always reminded me, “ride safely”, as I was leaving on my bike to meet up with Ru. We struggled on the hills and slid down hills. We biked across on an antiquated bridge with some broken down concreted handrails that have revealed the sealed iron rods in the core. Passing through the mangrove and phragmitie brushes, we finally exsited onto the road.  There were no traffic lights, stop signs and bike lanes; there were only some occasional fast bee-buzzing cars speeding by, which horrified me. Comfortably, Ru always stayed on the outer side when we biked in a row even despite the rainy or hot days.

Last night, my unrested imaginations about all exciting things in Chinese New Year holidays, which will start after tomorrow school, occupied my entire sleeping time. And that excitement was continued on our bike trip. The emotions inside of me provoked my speed and riding as a snake crawling ahead of the abnormally quiet Ru today.  

When I was filled with holiday excitements, a motorcycle rushed out from the right, and snaggeed my bike handle along. It was too late and too fast for me to pull on the brakes. I was like a thunder shooting in the air across the sidewalk after hitting the road curb. Ru did not even put her favorite bike on brake, she jumped high and she immediately reached her out arm with open hand, but she could not grab me. I thought: doesn’t this only happen in scenes of car crushing movie? I was thrown up higher in the air. I saw the something that never happened in Ru’s eyes; her tears were rolling and dropping like the unwanted raindrops.

It was an extremely cold winter that year. Ru has not attended to any classes for few days and I missed to see someone sitting on my right. After the last math class, I ran like a blow wind straight to her house and screamed, “Black, I am here!” She heavily walked out her stoned gate door in the front yard and smiled at me. “You missed lots of classes”, I said madly. She averted her gaze.

I padded twice on the marble rock that I was sitting on, and then I pulled her down to sit next to me. “My family is divided”, she said. “It is because my grandmother has not been getting along with my great-grandmother. So, they decided to live in the same house, but everything else will be independent”, she continued. I placed my right arm around her, and I gently pulled her head closer on my shoulder, “You always have me here”, I whispered.

Although, I felt she was sad, she let my shoulder stay dry with no tears on and I kept listening as she continued talking.

Ru’s arm slipped further and further away from me. I panicked and rushed to hold on to a mango tree branch, then like an uncontrollable horse without a leash and I fell into the mangroves bush. We were not surprised; I landed in water, because that scene also happens in movies. Ru rushed to me after she embarrassedly slid down on the hill, “I should have rode next to you as usual”, Ru choked with sobs.

By a gaze at her red eyes, I understood the reason that she was always biking on the outside lane, protecting me like a handrail on our bridge of friendship. A bridge that is invincible despite distance or time between us. It is always like in another beautiful summer morning in the village, when the newborn sun shines on the green tender banian leaves that keep our friendship youthful and warm.

Today, as I am growing up in a distant country, the United States, and interact with the reality, this led me to realize that the purity of friendship has rude by materialism. Unlike the movies that the happy endings can be written then edited for the public favor. However, good times in the past are never gone, which reminds me some lyrics of a song that our English teacher from the fourth grade played once for the class, Yesterday Once More by The Carpenters in 1973,

…All my best memories
Come back clearly to me
Some can even make me cry
Just like before…

It's yesterday once more.

The Unique Love

The Unique Love

By Shuwen Chen

Posted on 04/10/2014

Inheriting the Ancient Virtues of Motherhood

Childhood starts periods of innocence, curiosity, revolution, rethinking and eventually maturity. During that time, they meet people from playmates to business partners. Nevertheless, the only presence through out all changes is motherhood, which has endlessly altruistic love and contributions for the family.

            In China, there was a famous philosopher, who shared the same prestige as Confucius in China’s feudalistic society. His name was Menci. Knowing that every successes of a man is back by a woman. This is true of Menci’s story, and that feminine push behind his long-lasting praise was his mother, Li. Li was born in a royal family and adept in children education. After marriage, Menci’s family was poor and his father abandoned the family for fame and gain. After three years, Menci’s mother received bad news of the death of her husband. She healed from the sorrow of her husband’s death and continued to educate Menci into a sagacious person.

            The spirits of Li have been well-known models for all mothers in China for thousand of years. One of her mightiness was, based on the different development periods of children; she provided various levels of education for Menci. At the time when Menci was curious, Li moved from near a graveyard to a market town, because she realized that Menci began to mock funeral attendance, such as carrying a coffin or burying dead bodies as games. In the market town, Menci learned bargaining from peddlers, which Li knew it was not an ideal surrounding for Menci study.

On the third moving, Li settled near an education institution and found positive developments from Menci. However, in Menci’s period of revolution, he began to be absent from school and lied to his mother about why. Once, Li was sewing on a loom for living, and she cut the half-done fabric because Menci came home earlier. “Mom, why did you do that”? Menci asked confusedly. “ Learning is like sewing a fabric on the loom machine that needs each individual weave to accumulated over time. Persistence and unremittingness are the only ways to gain erudite knowledge. Escaping from school is like a broken loom that is unable to weave”. Since then, Menci started to follow his mother’s advises and became a great thinker and educationalist.

Li also importantly evaluated the early development of Menci’s morality. One day, their neighbor was grinding a knife to kill a piggy. “What are they doing, mother”?, Menci asked curiously. “ They are killing a piggy”, Li chuckled, and continued, “for you to consume”. Li was repented instantly after her answer, she thought, this piggy was not killed for my son, why did I lie to him? Wasn’t I teaching him to lie? In order to redeem her mistake, she bought the pork from neighbor and cooked for Menci with a lesson: follow the action with the word.

Menci’s mother has been always thoughtful for the family, even when Menci was adult; she never loosens her supervision and teaching. During the Spring and Autumn Warring dynasty period, Menci’s political propositions have been refused by emperor of Qi. He has wanted to travel to Song dynasty for adapting his propositions by Song’s emperor. However, Menci was worried about his old mother at home and her lack of care.

Li was heedfully considered the situation and told Menci, “ Youth obey to their parents, wives obey to their husbands, and elders obey to their sons”. After mother’s edification, Menci traveled between countries with his political propositions and they were adopted in several dynasties. 

I believe that all mothers in the world share the same traits with Li, and with those they always wish the best for their children whether in the beginning or the end of their life.

Her Stories, Our Bedtime Fantastic Lessons

It is less than a week until my birthday. For the last past twenty years, there is one person in my life, who never gives up on me. Whether illnesses or disappointments, my mother always loves me. I remember when I was four, when the moon was hanging high in a clear dark sky, my brother and I were excited for our bedtime stories from our mother. In her story pocket, the signature ones included, The Wolves, The kidnapping Witch and the Wedding dummy.  Like all other bedtime stories, she always concluded with lessons from them.

 “Be adaptive in any situation is a wise way to survice”, was a lesson from the funny Wedding dummy story. Every night, mom reminded us to be in bed at 10pm. She patted the blue and pink pillows for my brother and I. Then, she grabbed two corners of the clean white blanket and laid on bed. Next, she flipped one of the blanket corners, and then we were like two little sheep being rushed onto the green ranch. She laid softly near us while a hand held up her chin, then she looked gently at us, and began with the usual story line, “Once upon a time”, while she was putting another hand on my chest. “ A dummy got an asking from his wife to delivery the gifts for two couples on their weeding, ‘go straight to there and do not delay for the wedding time’, the wife emphasized”, mom continued. “The dummy was going straight to the wedding, he walked straight through a big bush and crossed straight in a river”, mom chuckled. “By the time the dummy arrived at the wedding, he found that all the gifts were lost in the bush or washed away by the river. He was afraid, therefore, he hide himself in the bathroom”. Brother and I curiously opened our eyes, “what happened next, mom”? Brother quickly asked. “ A guest in the wedding walked in to use the toilet. ‘Do not throw the food away, I have not eaten yet’, said the dummy”. We all laughed. After that, my mother pulled up our blanket slightly as we were asleep.

The Coffee Fears & the Fair Trading Love

When I was older, my mother had to work in the local fisheries for a living. One day, my grandfather offered me a coffee. It was the first time I had a horrible coffee experience. I stood silently behind my grandpa when he was holding a water pot for making instant coffee. “What have I done”? Grandpa was feared because he did not realize my presence, therefore, he poured the water in the pot on me, from my head to back, when my head hit and broke the pot. Immediately, I cried loudly. My mother arrived home at that time, she looked at my back and her tears were dropping. She bent down and said, “Everything is alright”, then she braved a smile. She turned around, and dialed to called my father. At the same time, her tears were pouring, because my father could not drive me to the hospital. Quickly, she went out and came back with our neighbor after fifteen minutes. Both of them took me to the emergency room. For the next three months, I had to lay on my chest with medicine on my burned skin in bed. From days to nights, my mother has stayed closely with me despite being her fatigued. “I thought that I would lose you on that day”, she recalled.

In China, the dominance of a patriarchal mentality is confirmed, which means the older generations traditionally value sons over daughters in a family. “Your brother is smart”, “ let your brother have that”, “he knows it, how could you not”, I was not exclusively in this unfair culture. That unfairness was even at our daily dinner table.

Sweet and sour fried fish, steam crabs, lobster meatballs with green beans and three other delicious dishes were prepared for that dinnertime. At the pink and oval marble table, my parents sat on the left, brother and grandmother sat on the right and I sat at the end in the middle. Brother and I, we both like the eggs inside the crab shells. My father was opening all crabs and spited them among us. However, there was always a cluster of last crab eggs to be shared. “Dad, I want that”, I said naughtily. Later, grandmother reached her arm over and picked up the egg cluster, “you had enough. Your brother is a boy, he should eat more”, she said that with peek at me. My mother smiled at me, and she snapped the tail of the fried fish. “But you have the only crispy fish tail on the table”, she said while dipping the fish tail into the sweet sauce. After all, I understood that there is no unfairness in bless of motherhood. To emphasize that, I understood it as my mother giving the unique fried fish tail on my bowl, so, I did not feel unfair about the last cluster of crab eggs. 

           

Raised, Accompanied and Letting Go

            In parents’ eyes, their grown up children are always the children. It is true. It was like in the mid-August, when osprey juveniles just learned diving into the water for fish in an early morning. At the moment, the parents were observing far away on a tree branch. Rather failed or succeed, osprey parents seemed to understand there is a kind of love, which is letting children to independent.

            “Mom, I am coming back home for this Christmas Break”, I told her over the phone. My mother would ask me what kind of food that I want for welcome home meal.

            After six hours of driving from school in Syracuse to New York City, I finally arrived home. As usual, I rang the doorbell once and heard my mother rush to the door, “You are back”! She said gladly. Meanwhile, I ran into the house and started to hold Lilac. Mom looked at Lilac jealously and said, “what about me”? All the sudden, I felt that she needed my attention and we hugged, I was ashamed but loved.

            A year after I moved to SUNY-Environmental Science and Forestry College in Syracuse, my brother was accepted to work in a professional network company, LinkedIn, in San Jose, CA. Before brother left, my mother cooked every meal with his favorite food and kept finding topics to talk about. Just the night before his flight, my mother took out the old photos that she preciously organized in a white album. Her gray hair looked extraordinarily bright under the gloomy desk lamp. She was flipping each page carefully, and afraid that wrinkled fingers would damage the photos, which were wrapped with crystal-clear plastic. I looked through a crack between the door and its frame, and saw that her slightly curved back showed her age.

“Mom, thank you for fulfilling your mother’s duty over these years”, I appreciated and whispered to myself.

Story reference retrieved from: http://guoxue.zhyww.cn/201205/60814.html

                                                A Late Coming Letter

                                                                                                                                   02/4/14

Dear Mother,

            Mom, today I was reminded to that I was not a dutiful daughter. That is because for so many years, I never wrote you a letter to appreciate you for your great motherhood. I hope that at this moment you do not blame for my long-term negligence, and I do not want to miss second chance to confess.

            Time gradually flashed back to my childhood, due to some family issues, you had to take the little me to live in another village. In that small and humble-brick house, you gave me very happy childhood memories. Do you remember the cause for my nickname? As I was growing up, you used to whisper to me in bed. You said that, one-day, a little quail broke into our house. The cooing sound of it called for nights and days. Until, I finally mocked the calling. Our neighbors and you were extreme entertained by me. The next day, the uncle from next door came by and jokingly asked: “small quail, where is your friend”? Since that, I got my nickname: the little quail. About two years ago, cousin Brandon, complained about that because his family has a nickname for him, and he does not like it. In my opinion, it was a mark from childhood, which recorded the happy memories.

            Mom, I admit that sometimes I like to bicker with you, but you are always in my heart with all my respect. It is because on the earth, no one is like you, who is as caring and supporting as you. The time when I choose to leave home for a college in Syracuse, father arbitrarily questioned my independent ability. However, you were able to see past your sadness and gave me a kind smile, and you said, “It is a good opportunity to go over there, for enhancing English speaking and learning to be independent”. In your words, you seemed to know that such a day would come, which is to allow me to explore on my own. Also, you were prepared to know what to say when the time came. Since that day, your supports have been encouraging me to live through all the long and cold winters here.

            In the year of grandfather’s death, I was too young to comfort your guilty heart. As a foreign wife, you married to father in another city, which was far away from your home. For many years, nevertheless, I felt that you were eager to be home again. Because of our family, you could not be around him on his last journey. You recalled that night, when you cried in a room alone, I passed you a tissue without a word. Recently, grandmother in California is unwell, although, you made the same decision to stay with our family. Mom, I am apologizing to you. Because brother and I have grown up, therefore, it is time for you to accompany grandmother. The reason is that I do not wish to see your tears of guilt again. If there is a day that you are sick, my heart cannot wait to be around you and take care of your daily diet.

            In Chinese tradition, a family dinner is indispensable.  It began from the year in college, the school regulations do not allow Chinese New Year holidays, and this is resulting my absences to go home. Although, I watched the firework shows on Chinese TV channel alone, but at least I have my colleagues to spend time with. Differently, you in the distant city had to have the dinner alone and I know that you needed a family reunion dinner more than I did. Mom, I am making you a promise, on the next coming years, I will go home for you. It is because I am, your daughter desperate to see that kind and happy smile on you, as well as enjoying the delicious food that you cook.

            If we truly have a chance for another life, I will still chose to be your dutiful daughter, who will spend time with you, love you, care for you and bring you to see the fireworks until life ends.

                                                                                                              

                                                                                                              Love, daughter

                                                                                                              Shuwen Chen