Please note: This is part non-fiction!

Staring at the blank piece of paper on the dining table, I struggled to compose the letter to my mother. The last letter I’ve written was probably when I was seven or eight when my mother and I got separated – she in the U.S and I in China. I remember writing that letter in Chinese, which was basic with lots of simple words and thoughts, considering I was in first grade and hadn’t learned too many characters yet.

Taking a deep breath, I tell myself, “Okay, get a grip. This isn’t your first letter and probably won’t be your last.”

Taking a pen, I begin to write, “Dear Mom,” and then it’s like I’ve run into the wall. What to say? How’s basic training? Ugh, no. How’s life in army boot camp? No! I still can’t believe she’s not allowed to use the phone. Writing a letter feels so old-fashioned and out of style.

Grabbing the letter she wrote to me, I re-read the words and begin to write.

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