My mom.

 Have you ever felt embarrassed by someone that you love? (adapted from prompt 1)

(Psssst I would love feedback on (1) how to make this shorter, (2) making this more cohesive/centered around a certain theme or lesson, (3) ways I could further explore different perspectives/make this essay more comprehensive)

Growing up, I often compared my mom to other moms and felt embarrassed by all the ways that she seemed to be “lacking”. When we lived in our apartment in Korea, I spent much of my time in my friend’s home directly above ours, partly to hang out with her but largely because her mom, Ms. Eun, was my tutor. 

As a young girl just opening her eyes to aesthetics through seeing celebrities on TV and reading interior decor magazines, entering Ms. Eun’s home reminded me of what I admired about her. There was a certain decorativeness and formality to the manner in which she neatly organized the slippers in the entry-way to a sliding door that led to the living room, how her sharply cut hair was neatly combed down, barely touching her shoulders, how her skin always shined from the makeup and skincare products she used.

These aspects were also reminders of all the ways I felt embarrassed of my mom: to me, she was the opposite of fancy, rarely wearing any makeup or accessories and often seen in casual clothing. Despite her effort to keep things organized and clean, our home seemed out of order, composed of poorly matched furniture and household objects that lacked the color scheme I saw in Ms. Eun’s green-brown living room. (I acknowledge an implicit bias I’m portraying here, that women are the homemakers. Growing up in a traditional, conservative Korean household, discriminating between “masculine” and “feminine” roles in the household was a given for me).

It was only much later that I would realize my mom’s apparent shabbiness and thriftiness was due to a value system that was different from Ms. Eun, rooted in her own personal experiences and backgrounds that traced back to a time frame much longer than I could fathom at a young age. Yet, oblivious and narrow-minded I was back then, I naively let my judgment of my mom morph into a general shame toward her that I brought with me when we immigrated to America in 2016.

Without a work visa in the U.S., my mom was forced into the role of a homemaker, and her inability to speak English–partly due to the lack of opportunities to interact with Americans on a daily basis–further took away the social and economic power she once had in Korea. This change only made her more vulnerable to the foolish, cruel way I viewed her. As I faced my own pressures of assimilating and navigating the American education system, I resented the lack of input from my parents on my academic success.

My feelings were especially targeted toward my mom after I saw other, English-speaking Korean mothers directing their children to extracurricular activities, signing them up for summer camps, and setting up their schedule for them. While my friends might have felt all this care was just parental pressure or unsolicited control over their lives, I saw this as a source of security and stability that I was not afforded and envied them for.

To make up for my own “disadvantage”, I actively sought out my own extracurricular activities, figured out what and how to study for exams and competitions, and made sure I wasn’t treated unfairly or denied certain educational opportunities, such as being placed in the wrong level at a summer math camp. Looking back, I realize that this may have been the experience for many others–and that my struggles weren’t as difficult as they could have been–but for many years I considered it as a unique handicap that I internally blamed my mom for. Despite my awareness of her own struggles in America, I always wished my mom would support my educational journey more proactively, like the other moms. 

My view on Mom and the various unspoken complaints I charged against her finally began to melt away as I learned about her childhood experiences during my high school years. Sandwiched between three sisters and a brother who always demanded so much from her parents despite their financial struggles, Mom was an afterthought in her family, the one who hid her own desires and needs to lessen the burden on her parents. For the majority of her childhood and adolescence, she lived with her sisters, away from her parents, and lacked the physical, financial, and emotional support I enjoyed my whole life. Her bias toward saving money over spending it–while suppressing her own desires for better clothing, luxuries, and other goods–also sprouted during this early struggle to stay afloat in a foreign city without parental care. 

Hearing all this made me reflect on the privileges that I had as an only child and recognize that she has already given me so much at the expense of things she might have wanted for her own life. Thinking about my aspirations and goals for my own life in recent years helped me feel the weight of the sacrifices she made when we immigrated, letting go of her career as a physical therapist back in Korea to throw herself into a foreign country, away from the rest of her family. In spite of this great adversity, she helped anchor our family to this new environment by bringing the taste of home to our table every afternoon, rising first among our family members every morning to wake the rest of us up, and doing so many other things I will come to appreciate more as I enter college and physically drift apart from my parents in my life ahead.

Now, I'm beyond proud of my mom and admire her strength as she boldly walks up to the Costco help desk to get a price match--something I think I'll always feel intimidated to do--or as she marches her way through a sponge cake recipe even when the batter already looks half-dead. In ways that I haven't noticed previously, she has been fighting for our family all along, overcoming her own barriers and fears to become someone we all rely on.