To the woman I’ve never met,
but the woman who loves me.
Forced to let me travel to a foreign country;
I am still yet to shiver my way
through the never-ending river.

So to contemplate:
must I choose between the mother who loves me from afar,
and the mother who has come to love me now?

Soon I may change my name.
If I discover the surname meant for me and make it mine,
shall I feel part of the family?

Is this to imply that I prefer her bubble over the sea,
that was once my world?
Is my continuous discovery something to regret?
Of the current,
My name reflects both.

A dilemma only I can solve
But not in the form of a simple equation or formula.

All I have for you, dear mama is,
We are like parallel lines.
We will not meet anytime soon.
The dot that connects us is invisible
But real in my heart.