Was watching a reality show about a couple who just met their adopted son. I relate so well to their struggles and the blessing of finally being a parent. In the past, shows like this brought a sharp pain to my heart as I see how others gain support from their family during the ups and downs of life. I am beginning to realize that my forefront reaction is becoming more and more about my immediate family and not about my past. I see that little boy and I see my son. They are about the same age and I can't imagine what that little boy is going through having to leave his home land to be with strangers. I cannot fathom the fear in that child for I know, it would have been hard for my little guy if he had to be taken away from us and given to another family. But I also feel that overwhelming sense of "how can I be so lucky" to finally have a child to call my own. I remember how I felt in the hospital room. It was so surreal to finally hear my son cry for the first time, and still is. And it is so true as they said it, the struggles seemed like a distance memory. I almost have to dig deep to remember how hard it was. It was a good feeling to have a sense that I am moving forward.

It's hard to talk to others about my narcissistic mother. For years, others simply dismissed my plea by saying that she meant well, it's cultural, or you know how old people are. While others meant well, these comments really made me feel unvalidated and extremely frustrating. Over time, I just don't say much except for a few. Perhaps only one friend who saw me battle it out all on my own. Who saw my bruise and acknowledge my strength. Today, my battle is not quite as intense anymore and I'm glad. But I am not letting her "glory" go with her to the grave. I hate her!

Conscious memory is quite different from the unconscious. However, the unconscious sometimes present itself when we least expects it. While in my earlier post, I can only recall a somewhat happy childhood, I also realized that every time I envision where I come from, I always envisioned it as a place of misery. A place that is less than. I always envisioned being rescue or doing something that will improve or remove me or take me away from where I was. Therefore, how can my childhood be happy? If it was happy and full of contentment, I would want to stay or emulate. None of that is true. Today as I look back, I still feel that same dissatisfaction. Not because I was ever physically abused but I certainly went through years of emotional blackmail. That left scars unseen to others. Scars hidden even from me for years to come. I guess I can't pick my past but I am glad I left.

Mother's Day finally arrived.

My spirit is serene and melancholy. I am at peace with myself and my decision to celebrate only with the most deserving. I don't miss my own mother and I have no memory of any Mother's Day with her. As my facebook friends bombarded their wall with wishes of this special day, I am torn by the public display. Given my own mother was a narcissistic, there isn't much to say about her as a mother. But also, given that I personally have experienced infertility, I have had the pain of going through this day. The most painful is when I lost my baby days before Mother's Day. When flowers were delivered to my door, the "Happy Mother's Day" greeting dropped me to the floor with overwhelming grieve. I will never forget that day. I guess that is my source of sadness. Losing that child. But while I grieve, I am also beyond happy to have my little one to hug and to hold. I am truly blessed.

As this day inches to the end, I think of my other friends who are still trying to be called mother. I am also reminded of the ones who has to celebrate this day without their mother and I can't help but see images of a little girl who went too soon.

That's why I am serene and melancholy. After months of turmoil, at least I no longer feel a sense of sheer hatred.

Mother's Day - used to be a day that I dread. The call home that was greeted with a short and curt remark. On my in-law side, my husband always buy the 2 cards for his mothers, his step mother who raised him and one for the one who birth him whom I nickname as the merry go round. Signed with all our names on it.This year, I picked out a simple key holder from hallmark for my true mother in-law and had nothing to do with the other one. I didn't ask my husband if he bought her one and I didn't care. Even if he did buy her a card, he knew I didn't care. I am very pleased not to be a part of "her" mother's day. She is not mother. She simply birth a son and that's the extent of her status. His step mother always sent me a card too and my husband, without fail will have something for me. The negativity with my own mother over the years, over shadowed all the goods. Last year, it was nice that I didn't have to dread making the call home to a unhappy person, but I was still emotionally invested in the card for the broken merry go round. Although it was not as overwhelmingly draining, last year I didn't take the time to rethink and redefine "mother."My true in-laws always took time to find the most gracious card to express how they felt about me but I never knew how to feel grateful when I was appreciated. I wouldn't say that I knowingly undermined my husband's effort but I do feel lost about the nice things that he did. To a point that I had forgotten about my son's sheer excitement of the bouquet that my husband brought home last year for mother's day. He was so ecstatic. He smelled the flowers and cracked us up when he said that they were delicious. This year I told myself that I will begin to redefine motherhood. That the word mother should remind me of me, and not her. Since then, I noticed that I have a change in perspective. For once, I feel authentic. For once I feel like I finally look forward to the day. The day that I want to celebrate my fortune of being so blessed to be called a mother. For once, the word mother actually put a smile on my face.

What is LOVE?

Being raised by one who is incapable of true love, I begin to wonder what is love? Looking back, I've always known how to love. I love who I am yesterday and even more today. I've always loved my pets, my seashells, and even my parents, until I realized that they have not loved me. I love my ex and I was willing to give my life for him. Only because I knew even my life could not cure him, that I walked away. Today, my love is for my husband and my son. Today, my love is much more vulnerable than it has ever been. I am willing to expose myself and all my weaknesses and let it be. I am willing to take a chance on life. I am not afraid. With my husband, the love is about our journey. Through thick and thin. We hit some bumps along the way and we have grown. I love that about us. My son is my heart. Unlike my parents, my love for him does not come with a hidden clause. I love him for who he is and I can't wait to see who he is going to be. I want to be around for him. To see him grow, be a man, a father, and be all that he can be in whatever path that he chooses. It is exciting.

Then I wonder about the ones that are incapable of love. The ones who are not willing to hold my hands and walk with me but tried to pull me to another direction at whatever cost. The ones who are too afraid to let go. How sad it is for the ones who are incapable of love. How much they have missed out on life because they are not willing to be vulnerable. Life is for the living and I have one life to live. I am not willing to miss out on any of the good things simply because I am holding back and not letting go.

For now, it is yet the best years of my life. I will look back on this day and be proud because I know what love is.