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“And in Mom's necklace is the echo of their every other sacrifice—her slippers cuffing the hallway as she folds laundry, covering my chores while I studied into the night; the scar where she cut her finger chopping black chickens to nourish me during finals; Dad chauffeuring me to my clinic internship; all their worries over my med school applications. It's one thing to dance around the little controls Mom exerts on my life. Quite another to shed a hard-fought-for future of financial security and respect for our families. My parents would slit their throats for my happiness, and in return, my future is their future. I should have known better than to let myself get swept away.” — Abigail Hing Wen
And in Mom's necklace is the echo of their every other sacrifice—her slippers cuffing the hallway as she folds laundry, covering my chores while I studied into the night; the scar where she cut her finger chopping black chickens to nourish me during finals; Dad chauffeuring me to my clinic internship; all their worries over my med school applications.
It's one thing to dance around the little controls Mom exerts on my life. Quite another to shed a hard-fought-for future of financial security and respect for our families. My parents would slit their throats for my happiness, and in return, my future is their future.
I should have known better than to let myself get swept away.