Letters About Literature Home >> 2008 National Winners and Honorable Mentions >> Level 3 National Winner: Ayesha Usmani
LETTERS ABOUT LITERATURE
Letters of 2008 National Winners and Honorable Mentions
Level 3 National Winner: Ayesha Usmani
Dear Amy Tan,
My mother sits at her corner at the table: the East, her home,
her memories. I sit at the West, opposite from her. East and
West, two cultures constantly colliding, but both fit in one
world. Fit together like mahjong tiles, but I cannot see. I see
our definite differences, I see the distance between us, I see
her coming towards me, but I run away, far away to the other
side of the world. I love the West, but must I give up the East,
too?
The sun rises in the East and kisses the sky with its golden
hues, and my mother rises and pounds the dough with her small,
flour-covered hands. A new idea dawns in her head as she twists
and stretches the dough. She calls me, and I grudgingly come
downstairs, groggy and confused because it's seven in the morning.
My mother has that gleam in her eyes. I have seen that look before--a
look that makes you cringe and twist in annoyance and despair.
I reluctantly snatch the dough from the plate and start rolling
and pounding it. Smack, thud, and flip. By the end of the cooking
lesson, I am covered in flour, the trashcan is overflowing with
my disasters, and my mother is frustrated. I wash my face with
a splash of cold water and look up. June stares at me from the
mirror. She whispers about not letting my mother change and control
me.
My mother wanders about the store, and I make sure I wander
in another direction. I come with her in the check out line,
avoiding the peculiar stares of the salesclerk. My mother asks,
in her not-so-perfect English, if there is a sale. The clerk
mumbles an answer, and my mother is confused. I quietly whisper
to her in Urda that the sale was last week. My mother responds
to me loudly in Urda, and I feel embarrassed. I distance myself
from her as we head towards the car. People turn and look at
us, muffling their giggles. I am imagining, but I am not imagining
the shame. Why doesn't my mother understand me? Can't she fit
in with American culture? Waverly shined within me. Independent,
stubborn, and ashamed of cultural ties, I mimicked her moves
and prepared for the attack.
I must transcend these linguistic and cultural barriers. Barriers
that block me from my mother. A mother, with all her energy,
who loves and guides me. This guidance must direct me to a new
path. A path that will allow me to appreciate my mother and my
vibrant culture.
I wear my shalwar kameez and brush my hair back. I feel
uncomfortable. I carefully pour the green tea for my aunt and
uncles. I feel subservient. I sit upright and talk, mostly listen,
with my grandmother. I feel bored. I listen quietly and patiently
to my mother and aunts complain about prices, daughters, cooking,
husbands, aging, and daughters. I feel awkward. I look aimlessly
out the window, and Jing-mei stares back at charlatan.
I strive to find the connection with mother. A connection that
will balance independence and loyalty to my heritage. A balance
of Pakistani values of love, obedience, and humility in harmony
with American values of independence, free speech, and self-esteem.
A journey that will always be difficult but worth the effort.
I desired that connection with your guidance Amy Tan. A connection
that I have now found. My mother sits at her corner in the East,
and I at the West. But we unite in harmony. A harmony that appreciates
our similarities and our dependence for each other.
With sincere gratitude,
Ayesha Usmani
Letters About Literature Home >> 2008 National Winners and Honorable Mentions >> Level 3 National Winner: Ayesha Usmani
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