Private Ryan: Tell me about your wife and those rosebushes?
Captain Miller: No… no, that one I save just for me.
– Saving Private Ryan
I probably should’ve picked a different title for this post, but not only do I thoroughly enjoy the same song from The Lonely Island, I think this whole rumination was brought on by thoughts of my own mother.
And if you’re thinking naughty thoughts because of the song, please stop them for a moment.
I love my mother. Absolutely, and without a doubt. Do I say it enough? Probably not. Did I always feel that way? No, because I was a pretty selfish, terrible kid/teenager/college student/young adult. Fortunately, more sovereign forces intervened to help me mature, to think less of myself and more on others.
Mother’s Day, and Father’s Day (and even Parents’ Day, for all you pure Korean readers out there), are really difficult for me for two reasons: my parents live pretty far away, and I never know how to truly express my thanks to them. Flowers and “World’s Best Dad” mugs don’t cut it, but some would say that something is better than nothing, right?
Wrong. That’s like bringing a wild gopher to a dog show. Although, I should admit that I did send my mother flowers last year.
This year, I was very much tempted to repeat the same, but as it turns out, when you’re in film school or in a master’s program (or both), you forget to check your peripherals. Or, if you’re like me, you struggle to remember what your mother’s favorite flowers are. So, I sent a family group message to wish my mother a Happy Mother’s Day.
Even now, I’m shaking my head at myself. What kind of turd of a son just relegates to sending a text message on Mother’s Day?
This past Sunday, I got to catch up with my sister, who asked if I had sent a card to my mother. Probably should’ve done that. She also asked if I was going to send one in Korean. For me, as a writer, if I can’t curate my thoughts in a persuasive manner in my language of choice, it’s really embarrassing. Like right now, if I didn’t have enough vocabulary to let you know that I’m cultured but also a complete idiot, I’d rail my head into the wall.
And then, my sister said that I should still write my mother a card – even with my apprehension about my
7th 4th 1st grade reading-writing comprehension of the Korean language (and even if it’s late, cause apparently she’s expecting one) – because she’d appreciate the hilarity of my struggle and thoughtfulness.
That led me to this. Every year (or everyday, for that matter), I see posts of Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Sibling Day, Woman Crush Man Day, all over social media. It’s gotten to the point where it’s just mind-numbing, but it makes me wonder… Who cares? I mean, if your parents or sibling or your significant other miniature toy poodle is on social media, then great. I guess they really appreciate public displays of affection.
I don’t, which comes off as really ironic since I was such a huge romantic back in the day. (And by back in the day, I mean a few weeks prior.) For me, my relationship with my family is sacred, second only to my relationship with God. Of course, I’ll occasionally post a photo, but largely, I want those moments for myself, and myself only.
With each day that passes, I realize that not only do I not have a lot of time left, but neither do my parents. Not that we’re overcome with disease, but it’s the reality that someday, I will lose them. Each and every moment is fleeting, and holding onto them is like grasping a breeze. For me to share them with the public, I feel as if it dilutes the essence and risks the sanctity of my memories. (I apologize if you have lost a parent and are still grieving, for it is not my intention to prod or satirize your own experience.)
I’m not saying to stop posting photos and memories of your parents and loved ones (maybe if your loved one is a dog, in which you should tone it down), or that I wish people would stop harping on me for not being more public about things like my birthday. In fact, this post is completely unprovoked, which does beg the question why I even wrote it in the first place. My point is that though I don’t show it, I do think dearly about my parents and my loved ones, so much so that if you cracked me open, memories would come flooding out like the Chestbursters from the Alien franchise.
(For the sake of the children and those with sensitive constitutions, I will not post a photo of said Chestburster.)
Even with such zeal and amour, I always remind myself that these moments and memories are for me, and as such are so precious that I will defend them from everyone. Which is why, even as I try to write my mother a card in Korean with four-year-old vocabulary, the most you’ll ever hear me say is this: I love my mom.