We’re (Lisa and I) back in Athens Georgia (hometown USA), where it’s the halcyon days of summer. The south used to be the home of summer heat - not anymore. Now everyone has their little ‘heat domes’ and temperatures well into the hundreds. Show-offs. In Athens, we creep into the low 90s, some days, between daily thunderstorms. Oh, well.

My parents are here! I haven’t seen them in the flesh in almost two years. Each time I had a holiday, they were off doctoring without borders. Every time I’ve seen my mom this week it seems like a surprise. I’ll walk into the kitchen or see her in the den. I hug her every time (Step too). They seem grayer than I remember, it’s scary and it makes me sad. When I mentioned it to Brice (on facetime), he just nodded noncommittally.

Earlier today, my mom, Lisa and I went shopping for our junior year of college. I don’t actually need anything; shopping was really a chance for us to visit and do what we like the most - malling. I like college gear, the clothes, tech, the odds and ends. College clothes are simpler, more utilitarian than I’d imagined back in high school. I’d brought a trunk of Anna Molinari designer clothes to Yale, but I only ended up wearing those at events.

Being home reminds me of how I’d dreamed of going away to college, especially back in the covid lockdown days. I still dream about college but now they’re stress dreams where next semester I get all the wrong classes, I’m placed in the wrong residence, or my roommates are all gone.

My mom’s still my mom and she wants to know all about Peter.
“How’d you end up with Peter?” she asked.
“Well,” I said, shifting dresses on the store rack distractedly, “we met in a coffee shop freshman year, then I saw him on campus a few times. I was drawn to him,” I confessed.
“How so,” my mom asked.
“I like tall guys and he had an unkempt, scarecrow quality that gave him a.. vulnerability. He wasn’t all muscular or fratty.” I further defined, making a yuck face. “And he obviously needed fashion help (my specialty).”

“And,” my mom prodded me after a moment.
“But he was a doctoral student,” I sighed, “and I was a lowly freshman. I mean, why would he be interested in me?” Mom gave me the side eye. “Sure ***, maybe but I wasn’t looking for THAT.”

My mom and Lisa were shuffling through racks of dresses too, each showing me the occasional standouts for themselves or me. My mom stayed quiet and just watched me. She wanted more but, as if I were still a high schooler, I was inclined to give her the minimum info. She broke me down by eyeing me.

“Eventually though,” I began spilling, “we got to talking and when we talked, he seemed like a person of substance. I mean, he was working on his PhD.” I shrugged, “He’s a serious guy - forthright, no-nonsense, shy and lowkey funny. We actually got ‘together’ at the beginning of sophomore year.” (I’m hoping he’ll come for a visit but I’m holding that for now.)

“Annick told me he’s from California..” My mom followed up, “Have you met his parents?”
“You know,” I leaned into her confidentially, “I’m working on my emotional and behavioral independence.” She Laughed and let it go - for the moment - I have no illusions about that.

Meanwhile Lisa and I are out on the lake early every morning water skiing. Charles is in his element, skippering the boat while Carol (Mrs. Charles) mixes coleslaw and grills bacon cheeseburgers. In the afternoons, we’ve begun studying for a couple of hours.

Lisa & I are both molecular biophysics and biochemistry majors. Our books for next semester arrived the same day we did, and we’ve started to read ahead. Everything about Junior year is extra. Our classes will be full of Biochemistry and biology labs, psychology, statistics, and research for credit class with names like “Quantitative Approaches in Biophysics and Biochemistry” and “Research in Biochemistry and Biophysics.”

I’m already set to continue my hospital volunteering and we’ll need to begin to study for our MCATS (Medical College Admission Tests). Next summer we apply to med-schools!

Of course, my Mom, Mz ‘I know everything about med-school admissions’ has a list of every other conceivable requirement for med-schools, like reference letters and God-knows what else and she’ll drop that list on us, like a ton of bricks, with the least hint of encouragement.

But she gets her hugs anyway.

When I was born the theme for the shower was Noah’s Ark, which if you don’t know is the story of hundreds and thousands of People being drowned by their father because He made them in a way that He knew He had no choice but to hate.
And because He had the power.
I always think this is a strange inheritance
To give a Child:
Countless mothers, thrashed against rocks and stones and trees that grow seed-bearing fruit, Grandparents scraped against the sides of cities, Sisters sputtering when lungs burn up with water.  Chaos everywhere. Pallid bodies floating over dark depths. Waves bigger than mountains, surging over clouds. Growing with the torrent. And worst by far, Wailing that is louder than the onslaught
of rain in sheets the size of seas.
When I go home I wince at blankets and baubles
Plastered with smiling elephants, giraffes and dolphins, blushing two-by-two.
That is just like my mother
to look at the tempest that killed everyone alive
and see the animals

It’s Sunday morning, 7am. My phone jiggles and a Doja-cat ringtone jars me awake. It’s Kim asking if we want to set out for some frisbee golf - you have to tee-off early on the weekend to avoid the rush. “No, I moan, not today” I say, licking my emery-paper dry lips and trying to focus my eyes on the giant LED numbers of my alarm clock, “Leong and I got shot,” I add for maximum dramatic effect.

Later, about 11am. I’m lead-ball tired and so is Leong. My arm hurts so bad I can hardly lift it. Leong says hers does too. We’re kind of binging “Riverdale” but, in reality, we’re curled up, blanketed, and surrounded by pillows on the living-room sectional couch, napping off and on.

It’s slightly odd, being at home again with my mom, who used to manage everything about me. She knew when I should go to bed and get up, what vegetables and fruit I ate. She knew my teachers, who my friends were, when I had homework due, or needed a dental cleaning, when I had a doctor's appointment (although she really was my doctor), how I was feeling, if I had my period, when I took a bath, when my sheets needed changing - everything.

Now my mom has her brakes on - I can see her sometimes, flexing to comment on something, like our plan to go to the pool party the other night at 11pm, but stopping herself.

I guess I’m a different (university sophomore) me and she’s a different (more hands off) her.

Leong’s very Chinese-respectful around my parents. She calls my mom “mamma” and Step (my stepfather) “baba“ and practically comes to attention whenever they address her.
They’re just parents,” I say, denigratingly, “relax.” She nods, she’s trying.

Early yesterday (Saturday) morning, Leong and I were in the kitchen, at a round table, deep in our kitchen bay-window area, where we’re surrounded by plants and hanging ferns. My mom was making us a pancake and bacon breakfast (yum!), which was lovely, in theory, but Leong and I were badly maimed (hung over) - which I’m willing to bet she guessed. The night before we went to a high school graduation throwdown.

“Do you girls have plans for tomorrow?” My mom asked, as she transferred several pancakes from a frying pan onto a baking sheet in the oven.
“Nothing in particular, why?” I replied, as I looked up to eye-drop my seemingly sandy eyes.
“You’re going overseas in less than two weeks and I’d like to have you two covid boosted before then. You might feel tired or sore the next day,” she said, as she flipped her latest set of four pancakes in the frying pan, “so getting them today would be ideal.”
I look to Leong, to check her reaction and she shrugs with her coffee cup to her lips.
“Ok,” I say, “sure.”
“Leong,” my mom begins, “do you need to check with your parents?”
“Mom!” I almost shout, reacting harshly. I’m hung-over, mercurial, and embarrassed that she’s treating Leong like a child.
“No, Mamma” Leong says, looking at me, frowning - stepping over my outrage, solicitously - both answering the question and calming me down at once.

My mom transfers the latest batch of pancakes to the oven, where there’s now a flat baking pan piled with them. She closes the oven, flicks off the gas burner, picks up a silver tray that was lying on a side table, covered with a kitchen towel, and comes over to us.

She lifts the towel and we see two covid booster syringes and alcohol wipes.
“Now?” I say, slightly alarmed (I’m not a big fan of shots).
She raises one syringe to the light for a brief inspection and taps it twice. She cleanses my right arm with an alcohol wipe, gently pinches an area and injects me with one quick, smooth motion - I hardly feel it. She steps around to Leong, who’s also sleeveless, and repeats the process with the other syringe.

And just like that, we’re all boosted, in less than a minute. She hands us both our updated covid cards and says, "Alexa, announce breakfast is ready.”
Doctor moms can be handy.

Mum,
you have been there
literally -
from day one
still handing out love
from all I have done

A mum
who is my mother
my protector
my carer
a strong shoulder
that never grew colder

Yes,
It may be once or twice
I set the pace,
like wild mice
In a race,
yet somehow
you always managed
to keep our home
nice and safe

Now,
I have a family,
a place of my own
and if I can be
half the parent,
you were to me
than my boy will grow
to be quite a man-
won’t you agree?

I want to write about you.

I want to voice

every part of you

that has clung to

every part of me.

A thick, heavy tar that you are

I can't seem to break free of.

I want to write about you.

I want to reveal,

every resentment I have

of the inevitable tie your motherhood

has had to mine.

I want to write about you.

I want to express,

release,

tear open my vulnerability to

every experience,

every feeling,

every heartache,

every wound

every trauma.

But, then, I am that quiet child,

once again,

brought back from buried time.

A shy child desperately wrapping

her tiny arms around herself,

sitting anxiously inside the presence

of yet another stranger's home.

A quick wipe of her face
Evidence of the stream
Now gone
A deep breath and a few sniffles
Clearing herself up before going back
To Them
Have to remain strong for them
Put the veil over her tiredness
Camouflage her hurt
The distress and heartaches are abundant
Yet for them
It is of no issue
She’d continue to show face
Give her very last breath
All for them
Their happiness, smiles
The very sound of their laughter
Yea...that’s all that matters to her
All that makes sense in her world
All that ever would
So
.
.
.
Deep breath, few sniffles
Clear face
The little loves of her life awaits

Senryus about my
favorite - my one and
only - mom (so far).

"Mom!, I understand!!"
5 minutes later - wait, what did
she want me to do?

Eating my breakfast
cereal, “Mom!, let’s go to the
lake!,” Mom says, “Can’t.”

“I can’t wait to be
a lifeless professional,”
I say to my bowl.

Mini-heart attack:
Your mom says: "OK, I need to
ask you a question."