Eliza, from Scratch

by Sophia Lee

Someone of my own blood, who gave birth to and raised possibly my favorite person in the world, was no longer alive, and when I found out, I hadn’t mustered even a single tear.

“The world our parents came from is not home to us. You can’t blame yourself for not missing something you never really knew.”

I had my entire life planned out when I was your age. It involved a bachelor’s degree and a career that used that degree. It involved living in the country I was born in. Do you think that really mattered?”

How some mistakes were small enough that when you tasted the end product, it was like it never happened. Maybe there was something to be said about letting go of the reins and knowing you would end up okay anyway.

Because of me, they’ve swapped out their Korean traditions for American ones. Maybe Halmeoni’s death served as a reminder of what immigrating had taken from my mom, and now she’s distancing herself from the country that never fully accepted her.

This country invalidated her degree. Turned her daughter into someone who became estranged from her grandmother and a foreigner to her home traditions.

“Never doing any part of a lesson right. I can’t trust you with anything.” Always. Never. I’ve been reduced to universal quantifiers.

“All I want is my mom, too,” my mom says in English, like she’s using the language as a weapon. “And no one is here for me. Not even my own family.”

it’s really lonely to be here in America.”

my mother’s loneliness runs so much deeper than I thought.

She was my mother’s mother, there for her big moments and small ones, there to shape her into becoming the mother she is to me.

How do I say I’m sorry for not missing the person you care about so much?

“What if I do the airplane thing? Or the train? What mode of transportation do you prefer?” “My own hand,”

I bothered you so much that first week of Culinary Arts because I thought you were so interesting. And I wanted you to find me interesting, too.”

“Why are you talking in the past tense?” “You’re not letting me finish.” “You took a pause!” “Because humans need to breathe! And I have a respiratory infection!”

“I wanted you to gravitate toward me like I did to you.

paper, I wrote, like, three different drafts. They kept coming out like love letters. I had to pretend I was writing a letter of recommendation instead.”

“We’re oblivious to how much we’ve internalized this one idea of success,”

This fragile bliss, newly brought into existence, but with the immediate recognition that something this alive could flicker out just as suddenly.

It’s silly that colleges ask for a personal statement as if our characters aren’t constantly changing and evading summarization.

My mom smiles. “He’s a good student.” I think about how Wesley would feel hearing the words my mom uses to describe him.

The real issue has always been over where the destination is set, and whether that destination is worth going to. Why does it matter if Kareena is aiming for the Ivy League and Wesley is aiming for Austin Community College, if each step is putting them respectively closer to where they want to be?