This year was the best I could do for others around me. I don't know if I did enough for me. I could not do good enough for Ma. The failing classes turned into straight A’s; the attitude turned into that of a respectful young lady. The warnings on report cards turned into honor rolls. Ma? Is this good? Ma? Did I make you proud? Oh Ma I really hope I did.

I love you Ma.

This letter is about the end of the year for this specific school year. But all I have left to write about is Ma. I was her perfect porcelain doll, stitched by the seams, stuffed with all her dreams. But those seams started slipping, and the stitches started ripping like the sound I heard in my ears ringing of her words ripping into my skin. Just to avoid her shouts, I didn’t care that my hair was falling out, that my nails weren’t growing back, my skin was peeling off, my eyes weren’t buttons. Your perfect baby doll stuck like voodoo. Just a punching bag, through and through. I wish I could hurt you back. 

I love you Ma.

Beauty was a knife I was holding by the blade. I swallowed my pride so I wouldn’t eat anything. “Did you change your hair?” “Did you lose a little weight?” “You should keep it up cause it really looks great.” I hate that I looked my best when I was really draining on the inside. Ma? Do you like the way I am? You’ve been my missing piece, so why aren’t you missing me? Guess I meant less than I thought. 

I love you Ma.

I had nothing to worry about in school this year.  Teachers didn’t have to worry about if I understood or not, students in group assignments knew I’d do all the work, my case manager didn’t have to worry about me getting into trouble or my grades slipping at the seams. Nobody had to worry. I was the good kid. I was okay.

I love you Ma.

But I wasn't okay if Ma wasn't okay. I did more for Ma to see what more she needed from me to show her I am good. Ma? Remember you told me when I was still growing and learning to do everything good for you? Ma? Why did that switch? Why did you tell me now that it's only for me? Ma? Why isn't it for you? Ma? I don’t know how to do it just for me. Ma? I did it for you. Can you teach me to do it Ma? I love you Ma.

I wondered what Ma went through that caused her to believe that all she is and ever will be is destructive. I never knew if I was victimizing myself or if it was my reality. Am I crazy Ma? I was guilt-tripped and gaslit into believing it’s my fault. Ma? Is it my fault? Is this a fever dream Ma? In my dreams I seem to be more honest with my reality. 

I love you Ma.

I never knew what abuse was; no child does when growing up. Love and pain were no different, and in three languages, I never heard you say "I love you." But thank you, Ma, for teaching me exactly who not to be. You will never meet my children, They will be so much more than just dolls. God forbid you give them a fraction of what you gave me. No buried fist will ever hurt a baby again. Ma, I hope one day you will love this broken doll. I hope one day the house you bought could become a home. you created me, and what you don't see is that you actually made me perfectly. 

I love you Ma.

Somebody new will comfort me like you never do. But Ma, I sympathize with you. I have to hold back the sadness and the anger that seems like a pile of dramatic emotions to you, because you provided me with a house, you provided clothes, you provided food. But a house isn't always a home. A Mother isn't always a daughter's best friend. My friends would sing songs about heartbreaks thinking about their exes but I sang them about Ma. Ma was my first heartbreak. 

I love you Ma.

I hope one day you will be proud of the things I did this year. I hope you will fix this broken porcelain doll. I hope you can glue it back together and say It’s okay. I hope one day you will say you love me in 3 different languages. Just promise me you’ll lie when you say it.

What a drag to love you the way I do.

“I love you. أحبك. bhebik.”