You’ve always been there in my life. You taught me how to read and write when I was scared of going to school. You always helped me in my schoolwork in elementary. Although that changed in high school, you remained as my moral support. You decided to stay with me until I finish college instead of returning to your home province where the rest of your loving children are living. I don’t know why you stay for me. Maybe you really love me like you say you do. But dear mother, you’ve been trying to get into my head to read my thoughts. You’ve been pretending like you know what I’m thinking and feeling when you catch me staring blankly into space. But believe me mother, you don’t know. You wouldn’t want to know what goes on in my brain. If you knew half of my thoughts, you’d probably be disgusted. Maybe, a little confused. But you’d probably leave me and disown me, your youngest daughter, the one you tried to abort when I was still developing in your womb. Then, you’d think maybe you should have gone with the abortion so you wouldn’t have to see the mess I have become, to know you have a daughter as queer and twisted as I am. But dear mother, all I ask is that you try to understand me. I’m having a difficult time in my head and I just need time to pick myself up. Please be there to tell me that it’s okay for me to feel this way. Someday, when I tell you about these things that trouble me again, let me cry in your arms without you giving me all those religious shit I don’t need to hear. Just let me cry. You don’t have to say a thing. Then, maybe…maybe, I’ll be fine.