is this love

dear mom,

Here I go - starting the first of likely many rambling thoughts I have about my love life. Or maybe lack thereof.

Did you ever envision your baby girl growing up and beginning to navigate what it means to love and be loved? Did you picture a specific counterpart for me? Did you have specific hopes? Did you have specific barriers? Judgments against who I might end up loving. What about fears? Maybe it was all too far away to imagine. I was only nine the last time you saw me, after all.

I wish I had more reassuring news for you today, but I do not. Although maybe it should come as no surprise that I harbor both daddy and mommy issues. Unable to attach, but unable to detach once I am attached.

Would we reach a point in our relationship where we could talk about dating and share our experiences? I wonder what innocent crushes you entertained throughout your childhood. I wonder what you set out to look for when you left home for college.

Tonight I'd invite you over to lament my anxieties. These growing fears of losing someone I thought I could really stay excited about. And how it's unearthing again this unhealthy attachment style. The beef chuck I braised all day in spices and chilies would be nearly finished. Tender enough to pull chunks off with my tongs. I'd flip it one more time as the juices finished reducing while telling you about this boy who won me over with his silly voice notes and forehead kisses.

I'd mix up a scoop of peanut butter with some soy sauce, some garlic, some sesame oil - a quick dressing for noodles - while detailing the slow progression of our courtship. Mom, I thought I knew what I wanted, but I feel paralyzed by indecision. I never really learned how to ask for what I wanted anyways. I'd listen to you tell your version of your love story, as I boiled a fistful of spaghetti noodles for the two of us. I wonder if you knew you loved Dad instantly or if it took time to grow. And I wonder if you stayed in love or if it flatlined into comfortable companionship.

I'd quickly sauté some tofu in garlic and peppercorns. If you were here we would talk through my ruminations and worries while I mix in the suimiyacai at the end - a vegetarian dan dan noodle approximation. Maybe you'd berate me for being so complicated about it when it should be simple. But you aren't here, and because of that I was never modeled what love is. I never considered what your relationship with Dad meant, because I watched him move on within months of your death. And I hated him for it. I took your love for myself, negating your marriage from the equation. It was weirdly impossible to imagine you could've been so happy with Dad. Sometimes I'd feel almost uncomfortable seeing pictures of the two of you, smiling brightly in a fictional time.

I imagine you'd freely share your marriage hardships, your complaints - I could probably guess what they might be. But I wonder what good you'd have to say. I wonder what positive qualities you'd tell me to look for, which ones you think I deserve. You'd tell me while I lifted the noodles out of the bubbling opaque water. I don't know if I'd take your advice or even believe you. I would turn away to dress the noodles in the peanut sauce, wiping tears from my eyes because I'd feel so ashamed of making you worry for me. Scoop a serving of tofu for each of us and pull apart a few chunks of beef, while I swallow the question - will I ever feel what love is?

I miss you through the times I miss someone else,

Amelia