Dear Mom,

I’m over a month into my second semester of college, and though I wish I was the type of cool person who won’t admit that I miss you, I’m too sentimental for false pretenses.

I miss you a lot.

My mornings here are quiet and dark, for I am an early riser and my roommates are not. You and I used to spend every morning together getting ready in acute synchronization. We were always talking – moving from my room to yours, then to the kitchen, then to your bathroom. You talked while I did my makeup, and I talked while you curled your hair. Together we’d make lunch. I prepared the salad, while you made the sandwiches – with love of course.

I’m making my bed by myself now, and it feels weird to know that you’re stacking pillows and tucking in sheets alone too. However, I must admit that it is wildly liberating to not have you rummaging through my closet to pilfer a shirt or dress.

Being an adult and not having you as a constant in my life has made me reflect on my childhood. You really provided me with more love and support than I could have asked for.

I remember you telling me stories every night, answering my endless questions, and finally tucking me into the nest of pillows and blankets piled on my bed. I especially remember waking up in your bed the next morning, having snuck in at some point in the night. When I was little, you would sing to me to put me to sleep. Since I was born, you sang "Summertime" by Ella Fitzgerald. It was the only thing that would actually work, and I’d be asleep before the second verse. Throughout the years, if I was sick or sad or tired, you would lay next to me in bed and sing that same song. It still comforts me to this day.

College life is different due to the lack of parental supervision. There are throngs of people rebelling against the oppressive lives they led growing up with stringent rules and strict adults. These are the sexually active, party seeking youths that are hungover on Monday. There are also plenty of people who walk around in a lost delirium because there isn’t anyone telling them what to do. I’ve met people who will only go somewhere if someone else will go with them, and people who will only go if no one else will. I’m finding a lot of extremes here, and a lack of balance.

I understand it’s hard for people my age to be unceremoniously thrust into the chaotic reality that is adulthood, but it seems like most people can only focus on one or two things. A full class schedule, and the hours of homework that subsequently follows, a job, a healthy social life, going to the gym and partying during the evenings. People (myself included) are literally burning the candle at both ends. I’m assimilating back into having a busy life, though.

From a young age, you’ve taught me how to handle myself. Going to school, participating in sports and various extracurricular activities, getting a job, and having a raucous group of older friends has definitely prepared me for the rush of college.

I truly believe that your guidance has allowed me to transition almost easily from juvenile dependence to a strong confidence in my capabilities as an adult. Though you set rules for me as I grew, you were never strict. You let me do pretty much whatever I wanted, with little repercussion for my actions. I went on dates, to parties, and did things that most girls would be embarrassed to tell their mothers. But with you, I was always honest. I didn’t worry that you would get mad at me, or that you would judge me or treat me differently. You always told me ‘telling the truth is okay,’ and that remains true today. You were always honest with me regarding your rocky and colorful past, and it made me trust your faith in me. Because you let me make my own decisions and mistakes, you let me grow independently. You let me figure out who I am and what I want. You let me become an individual, someone who didn’t need validation from anyone or to rely on someone else for an answer.

You let me live. I can’t thank you enough for this.

You taught me how to be self-sufficient, to seek out solutions, to be active rather than passive. You let me learn how to be an adult before I needed to, and though I resented you at the time, I respect your careful planning.

A lot of the time while I was growing up, you weren’t really sure what you were doing. You still don’t always know what you’re doing half the time. I was your first child, your only daughter, the first kid you have to put through college. Stressful, right? Trust me, I know. You’ve told me about a thousand times! That’s kind of how we are, though. We try to plan for everything, but end up having to wing it most of the time, fueled only by the thought that everything is going to play out the way it is supposed to, and everything will be alright in the end. Even when our situations seem abysmal, and it feels like our sanity is drunkenly dancing along a sickeningly steep precipice, we push through.

Like when we decided to move back to California. We were leaving Hawai’i – our home, our everything – to go back to someplace we didn’t care for that much to begin with. For weeks, we both felt physically sick because we were wracked with indecision and sadness. God, you were so scared you were making the wrong decision, and honestly, I wanted you to stay where you were. You had a job and the most amazing friends anyone could ask for, and they were all in Hawai’i. We both cried in the airport and in the days following our arrival in our new home.

Everything felt so wrong.

We had a plan, but we were definitely making it up as we went along. I felt lost, and I know you did, too. Then, you found a nice house and a job you liked, and I’m in school and I realized something important: we are Hawai’i.

That place was home because it embodied all of our morals and our spirit. Just because we aren’t there anymore doesn’t mean that it isn’t our home, or that we can’t affect others the way the island affected us. Mom, you made the right choice by moving us here. If we weren’t meant to leave, the island wouldn’t have let us go. You know that as well as I do. It loves us, and will always be there for us when we decide to go back. We are just going to go back stronger, and we are going to have a greater appreciation for that wonderful place we call home.

When I was younger, I hated being compared to you in any way, and you knew that. I didn’t enjoy people telling me that I looked like you, talked like you or acted like you. I wanted to be me. I didn’t want to be like anyone else because I wasn’t anyone else. To be told that I was reminiscent of another person in any way was a direct insult to my character.

I spent hours memorizing our features, trying to spot our differences. My jawline is a slightly different shape. My ears are different. We have different feet. Our smiles differ –and that’s it. We have the same hair and eyes (albeit they are slightly varied in color). Our noses are the same. Our voices have the same tone, cadence, accents, and dialect. My attitude and thought process is a direct reflection of yours. Although I am taller, younger, and funnier, we are like two versions of the same person. Now, I am proud of that

I’ve said this before, and I’ll be repeating it for years to come: my relationship with you is not a typical mother-daughter relationship.

You’re more like a friend.

You’re my best friend.

I don’t tell you this nearly often enough, but I love you and I appreciate you. You are so strong and powerful. You are the best role model anyone can ask for. You don’t hide your mistakes or problems, you face them and talk about them. You are forgiving and free of judgment. You are full of love and beauty. You are a confident for me and all my friends. In my opinion, you are the physical proof that good still exists in this world.

Thank you, for everything.

- Your loving daughter