Personal Narrative: The Perfect American Child

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My mother always told me “That I would never be alone, and that we were two turtles seeing the watery world together from the bottom of our shimmering little pond.” But ever since, she died and thats all gone now, and I don 't have any of that anymore, she died, and I don 't have her anymore, she died, and now I have no shoulder to cry on, n…no one to tell me it’ll all be ok, She died and now I’m all alone, completely undone, slowly sinking to the bottom of my own gloomy, desolate pond. Why is it that she is the one who passed away and yet, I’m the one in a death-like state engulfed by my own saddened, grief-stricken emotions. And yea I get that my aunties are trying to be there for me and are trying to comfort me because I 'm in mourning…show more content…
Can you even begin to fathom the despair,… the confusion th…the sorrow I feel? No, you can’t and there is no one else who can either. Who am I kidding I deserve this, I’m a failure. My mother used to call me the “perfect american child” “that i’m everything a mother could ask for”, but I guess my aunts don 't think I hear them when they say the only “Chinese thing about me is my blood”. Oh mom, why, why here, why now I need you… dad needs you… I can still remember, how when I was younger, we used to lay together in my bed and you would read me Chinese fairy tales and told me that one day, you would do the same for my children, but you’re not here anymore, and there nothing that I can do about it. My kids are going to grow-up with no ties to their heritage, not like I have much anyways, well, besides… no I can’t… Just thinking about makes my sick to my stomach. I’ll never forget what you did for grandma PoPo. To this day I remember the sound it made when it splashed into the soup, the smell it gave off, the way it looked after it was broiled, and worst of all, the way the blood cascaded out of you once you put the knife down, the way the scar began to form on your…show more content…
And for what, so that you could make an offering to some god to try and bring her back, to allow her soul a few more measly breaths in a life not worth living, and the scar never did heal. And I feel, nor did the holes left in our inconsolable hearts, but at the same time, I feel now that I should have done the same for you, I feel that I finally understand what you must of been going through, cutting off a chunk of your flesh to put into her soup wasn’t about god, or holy offerings, it was about doing something, anything to bring back what was taken from you, from us, and the blood and scar were nothing more that the price for trying. I feel that I let you down, and I am sorry mom, I’m sorry mom. How can I make it up to you? What could I possibly… Wait a minute, I know. I’ll… I’ll go to china! This way not only will I gain stronger ties to my culture that I can pass to my children, but I can also meet my sisters, and tell them about you, what you were like, your values, and what you taught me. And more importantly we’ll become the family that you always wanted us to be even if you 're not there in person I know you’ll always be with us in spirt. I love you

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