My mother, a daughter's perspective

From the womb, the first world I entered into was my mother's, a world filled with Vietnamese stories, songs, and poetry. I held her hands tightly everywhere we go and I slept next to her every night, mouth agape under her tender breasts. She is a powerful woman, apt with words and language and she can easily sharpen them into tools for healing or weapons for battle.

Yet, mother is not perfect and neither is our relationship 

Growing up, I took those things for granted, and many times, I wished my mother was not so into... herself. I looked to my grandmother, who meticulous took care of six daughters and their children as well children from my grandfather's mistress. My grandmother was also a fierce woman, who cooked to feed and grinded every day, from sunrise to sunset. I used to watched her pounding  the rice with rhythm and force. She was tall and has a strong figure, hips wide and a slender back slightly curved from years of plucking rice. Whenever I was with her, I felt as if am the only person that matters.

Thus, when my grandmother passed away and I became agitated by the fact that mother was not like my grandmother. My mother could not cook or clean, or take care of infantile. Moving to the US was a difficult transition, and everything I knew slowly disappeared. including my mother.

The strong and commanding woman that I once fear become a blue collar worker at the food factory. She longer can speak eloquently and no loner spends time reading fairy tales to me at night. My mother become one of the many nameless immigrants.

It was this summer, doing research on the Vietnam War in Vietnam that I quickly unraveled the fascinating history of my mother. Bits and pieces of her came to life as stories got passed around the dinner table. My mother was famous in the village for the audacity to speak against the ways of communism, One of uncles told me that she was put in jail for writing a book about how communism can be effectively implemented. My grandfather came to jail , frantic and worried. However,  it turns out the policemen have brought out their guitars so she can sing.  Her intelligence, wit, and charm were unchallenged.
I also learned darker deeper secrets that my mother was hiding from me.
Part II to be continued