I am an old Central Asia woman, born in Kazakhstan and moved here with my family in the year 1957 when I was 17. Now, I am 79 years old. I am not a good looking woman, but I had beautiful long black hair in the past. I remember when I realized that my hair was loose at the top of my head. That was the moment I started worrying about how to keep my head warm in winter. I remember after that, I stopped taking my hat off in public. I am not a good looking woman, but I played beautiful piano songs, although I am not a professional. I used to have thin, straight and strong fingers, but I started losing the gracefulness of them after I arrived in America by doing more housework and having a harder life; eventually, I developed arthritis of the fingers. My fingers became thick and ugly and I did not have extra money and time to have surgery, so I had no choice but to stop playing the piano. I tried to wear gloves everywhere, but it created distance between me and others. I was a trade negotiator, so having distance is fatal. Not wearing gloves became a habit even after I retired. You see, I can face my ugliness and handle everything.  

Today is my 79th birthday, December 4th, 2018. I was walking with my grandson this morning near our department and he took a picture of me for the first time that was just for fun. The air and tree in New York were both dry and cold. It was not too early in the morning but there were very few pedestrians. After I turned 65, I started getting a serious mixture of nearsightedness and shortsightedness preventing me from seeing everything around me. Being hyper-alert was my survival tactic living in America, as an immigrant. This led me to start writing more details in my diary every day; I started writing down what I had to do for the next day before I went to bed every day, otherwise, it would be impossible for me to fall asleep. I started holding my grandson’s hand while we were sleeping. 

I am losing my memory. Because of this, I always bring this small note with me and put it into my right coat pocket. One time, I lost that important note, so it took me around five extra hours to go back home, to realize what I forgot, and to walk back to where I was while I have sciatica, so I started to keep checking my right pocket when I am outside. I can handle everything. 

As I get older, I have to be very careful while I am walking, since every fall will lead me to go to the hospital. The bacteria and viruses in the hospital will invade my weaker and weaker immune system easily and finally kill me. When I started getting tired, I notice that I need to sit down. I do not want to die. If I die, how can my grandson achieve his dream just by his family’s help? My grandson, Jeff, is 16 years old. He fell in love with computer coding when he was 6. After 10 years of continuous training, he became the best student in his school. I had my daughter, Nina when I was 37 years old and she had Jeff when she was 26 years old. Nina told me that she hates my violent and contradictory speaking style. She said she had suffered from this breathless and high-pressure environment and she was not able to tolerate it anymore. She left her son and we never saw each other again. But is holding all the responsibility for a potential kid is ok for a dying woman? Can I truly handle everything?

My name is Nina. I am a bad mother. I had an amazing and beautiful mother, but I did not understand her. She always pushed me to study hard even when my classmates were playing in front of me. I finally decided to leave her, but after that, I messed up my whole life. I became a drug addict 15 years ago. My mother, Esther, forced me to study 3 languages when I was 3 years old and kept writing the diary in those three languages for practicing. I got into Columbia University when I was 16 years old and graduated in piano and international management double majors, in 5 years. After I graduated, my mother pushed me to finish my master’s degree in management and give up the piano. I was 21 years old in that year. The sentence that she always says to me is, “Dear if you don’t work hard and earn enough money, you will not be able to control your life. You will be controlled.” After I graduated without any enthusiasm in international management but just tons of analyzing structures and fixed logic, my mother urged me to marry and have a child as soon as possible since I even do not have a boyfriend when I was 25. I listened to her order in the wrong way: I slept with a stranger in the school where I have my master’s degree. As I wish, I got pregnant and born Jeff when I was 26, secretly. I threw that kid to her in order to fulfill her foolish and childish dream. While I am conceiving, I realized that I do not need her financial support anymore. I am free. Without any hesitation, I left.

I became a drug addict. I had tried to get out of this situation, but it was too late and too hard for a single and supportless lady. Fortunately, I am very good at playing the piano and I created lots of beautiful songs. This talent helped me to find my husband and he saved me. Two years before, I can live without the drug. One year before, my skin started turning into normal color and my weight started going up. Now, I'm married, completely out of that situation, and ready to see my mother and my son. 

I was in the car behind my son when he was taking the photo for his grandmother. I missed my mother and my son. I would not force them to accept me, but I need to try my best to compensate them for my stubborn, irresponsible and timid. My mother, the elegant, beautiful and strict lady, now, is wearing a purple old think coat, an old purple flowery hat, and holding a solid color shopping bag. That hat is not suitable for her but would be when I was 12 years old – when she is with her tight moist skin and good-shape body, but she never wears a hat when she was young because her beautiful hair is better than any other man-made decorations. 

Her hat made me remember when I realized my mother is getting older. She was 50 years old that year and asked me, “Nina, can you help me to read this?”. I was confused and replied immediately, “Your glasses are right beside you.” After a long pause, she said, “Oh, thank you.” That day, around midnight, I woke up for drinking water on the second floor. That was my first time to feel cold in my house. The smell of our wood furniture makes me feel heavy. I saw that she was using a magnifier for reading in the study on the first floor. I saw her scalp clearly on the top of her hair. I saw her fingers were dancing on the keyboard, but pressing “delete button” very often. I was unable to understand why she types wrong so many times. Now, when I am looking at her left hand, I know. 

“I am sorry, mum. I am a bad daughter.” was what I think in the car. The tear ran out of my eyes, I put my hand on my mouth to try to hide my sadness. My husband put my hand down and hug me gently and said, “Never too late. We will give her a surprise, don’t we?” Yes. There are many things waiting for us. We are going to buy a more think coat for winter for my elegant mother. We are going to book the surgery for the finger arthritis, so my mother can play the piano with me again. We are going to the best Barbershop. I think the perfect pixie cut would be nice for her.