My Mother’s Eyes

I see so much of myself in my mother’s eyes.

Sometimes I see her happiest moments, when she nods and acknowledge me.

My mother’s eyes, the window and lens of my world as a child.

Sometimes I see her sad moments, when she shakes her head and tells me, “Why don’t you listen and do as being told?”

My mother’s eyes, if looks could kill.

No matter where I am, I am home in my mother’s eyes.

By Jazzmin S. Lu

~~Dedicated to all the wonderful immigrant mothers out there in this world. A person that gave unconditional love, made sacrifices for her children to have a better life and deprived of self-love. You are out there, but not alone. Honor should be yours.

Boxed Memories

Growing up Asian American and as a female is always a constant struggle for me.

Raised by traditional parents, whereas brainwashing is the norm.

Expectations of the ideal good and obedient daughter was the usual in my family.

I had to embrace my Chinese and Vietnamese ancestral heritage, while adopting to the American culture.

My life struggles and happiness, I lived to tell them now.

My sad and negative memories, I learned to box them up and label it “BAD.”

My good and positive memories, I also learned to box them up and label it “GOOD.”

I called these, “Boxed Memories” that is now currently in a storage place inside my brain.

Sometimes my heart will conjure up emotions to open these boxes when life situations become a stimulus.

My “Boxed Memories” are mine’s to keep and to unbox.

By Jazzmin S. Lu