Emily Nguyen, Week #10: On Nascence

Grieving over people I have not yet lost is a special pastime of mine. I always ponder what would be lost if someone in my life were to die now—such as the time that could’ve been spent with them, the dumb ideas we could’ve shared laughter over, and all the silly jokes personal to me and them.

A future of their absence continually creeps into all our interactions. 


I honestly don’t know why this is a reoccurring picture for me. Maybe my ancient soul committed some evil deed which sentenced me to perpetual grief lurching into my present days. I’ll be enjoying the moment, a wondrous moment perhaps, and it’ll strike me: our time together is forever dwindling, and when they’re gone these memories are all I will have left. Though, even my memories won’t hold. They’ll flutter away too, eventually. And I will solely cling to the fuzzy feeling in my husk of a mind. 



My mom often references her more solid idea of the child me that she keeps tucked in some untouchable locket of her memories. She’ll remind me that I am not who she remembers me to be. And, despite her collapsing memories, she recalls specific things I did in childhood—things she watched me do through the eyes of a busy mother. 


And then, I truly realize. I’ve taken away her life. Each wrinkle that folds when she blinks and laughs hollowly sticks a pin into my eyes and through my heart. In the wake of distressed skin, I ask her about all the stories of her life before me; I’ve been asking since I could speak coherent language. I find out more than I could ever know about this woman before me, who’s losing more of her mind day by day. A smart highschooler, a wild college student, and a daughter full of life, carrying the burden of immigrant responsibility. She married late, and through the pressure of aging as a woman she has been bound to family life ever since. 


Coming home every day to a house which only grows more empty, with little personal fulfillment beyond the errands she has built her life around, shows me that I, as her child, robbed her of a freer life—one where she could’ve pursued something that would’ve made her happy; a life she could’ve had the time to explore and enjoy. I recognize that I don’t offer her enough happiness in equal exchange for the chance at leading a life she wants for herself. A mother’s sacrifice is what really hangs on my conscious; a decaying hand that leaves behind the gray residue of regret once I pry it off my slice of life.


I could try all I want to attain career success and riches and make her proud, but she will never be personally true to herself and love herself, having chosen this road. The path untreaded eclipses what futile happiness she could get now. 


If I could wish for anything in the world, it would be to have a less estranged family. It would be to just free my mom. I removed the rest of her dreams the moment I was born. And I will never have the power to make it up to her.


Little me.

Comments

  1. Harshi PannalaJanuary 31, 2026 at 10:20 AM

    Hi Emily! I feel like I should be offered some sort of consultation after reading your blog; I definitely shed a couple of tears. It is definitely my fault for reading your blog late at night, since emotions always seem to come out then. The first line of your blog immediately grabbed my attention. Even when everything is going perfectly and laughter is at full volume, I think about how terrible my life would be if my friends and family weren’t around anymore. It is definitely a buzzkill but a reminder for how much I love them.
    I don’t think you should see yourself as a burden to your mom. My mom talks about her past with a certain happiness I struggle to find when she’s in the present, but that’s life and her children are not to blame for that. Yes, she sacrificed a lot for us and her life now doesn’t sound as colorful but she has a family who adores her. Neither we nor our parents can undo the choices we made before, but we can try to offer a bit more love for each other and be each other’s support system. Your mom’s past will forever be nostalgic but that doesn’t mean she regrets you or the life she chose. You have the power to keep a loving relationship with your mom and perhaps that’s all she really wishes for.
    I read a passage from Barbara Bush’s speech on the ACT recently, where she addressed Wellesley College’s graduating class. In it she said, “At the end of your life, you will never regret not having passed one more test, not winning one more verdict, or not closing one more deal. You will regret time not spent with a husband, a friend, a child, a parent.” Do with that what you will.

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  2. Lara Reyes-TerryFebruary 4, 2026 at 7:40 PM

    Emily, I completely understand the “perpetual grief” that you talked about in the beginning of your blog, it really got to me. To be blunt, over the summer I experienced the passing of two very close family members and the moment I got the phone call/heard the verdict in the hospital room, the preemptive “what if” questions became real scenarios I slowly had to navigate outside of my head. I will say though, on the bright side, having those ideas not only serve as catharsis the way tragedy did for the Greeks (according to Aristotle’s Poetics), but also give us the opportunity to enjoy our time with those closest to us completely.
    I don’t think it would be fair on yourself to say that you have “taken away” your mother’s life, at one point in time we were all decisions that were made, I jokingly call myself an accident as my parents had me much later in life, but even with that, my parents also emphasized how they wanted to keep me. I, of course, cannot comment on your family dynamic, but I’m sure there is a lot of love for you with how your mother “recalls specific things” you did.
    This blog post was a heavy one in the best way possible, I hope you’re doing a little better!

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