Welcome! A new entry has been added to The Lower Frequencies:
Hello! It's been a while since I last posted, but I wanted to put some time into writing this short memoir for you guys. It's very personal, but I wanted to share my story. (Please turn on your sound)
As I stood on the stage, grinning and anxiously awaiting the announcer to reveal the top 10 places for the State Computer Game and Simulation Programming event, I couldn't help wondering why I wasn't as excited. Even as I walked down the stage holding the 4th place plaque, qualifying me and my teammate for nationals, it felt like it wasn't an accomplishment, but more of an expectation. As I returned to the crowd and headed to my cheering classmates, I smiled slightly before sitting down. My classmates congratulated me for a bit before they quieted down to listen to the next category get called out. I stared down at the block of wood and brushed my fingers across the smooth surface. It has a scratch, I thought. My mind drifted back home. I hope my mother was proud.
My relationship with my mother has always been confusing. On one hand, she was the most capable person I knew. Whenever I was stuck on a problem, she would reach out to her vast network of asian mothers, spend all night researching, and find tutors to support me. I love her with all my heart. My mother came from a poor village in China where she grasped at any opportunity that briefly grazed her and never let it go with her iron grip. Though my parents succeeded in their ventures and arrived in America, we were not well off. I was taught at a very young age never to waste money or time; however, my mother never hesitated to invest in my education and activities.
On the other hand, she would shut herself off from anything whenever I argued with her. She sometimes ignored me for days, walking out of the room, wearing an emotionless face, and making short comments when we needed to communicate. However, we were forced to talk whenever we were both in the car for lengthy trips, as there was nothing else to do.
As I was growing up, she signed me up for as many different sports as possible-basketball, soccer, volleyball, baseball, swimming, and tennis-before I settled on tennis. Because of my low performance, I often saw tennis as a hobby, but my mother saw it as another way to be number one. After a particularly rough private tennis lesson from my mother's friend, I timidly climbed into the back of my mother's car. I could almost hear her words in the dead silence.
"Stop being so silly!" my mother says in an icy tone. "Why can't you try harder? I know you are capable of better. You are smart and full of talent, but you never use any of it."
"I'm sorry," I muttered.
"Sorry isn't going to get you anything. Pay more attention. It's expensive to pay for each lesson. You make such a strange face when you play. Can't you fix it? It's not... pleasant to look at."
"But you set the price for my lessons! Also, I thought you said I should smile more during my tennis lessons."
"Are you talking back to me?"
"No-"
"Yes, you are. Pay more attention, or I won't pay for your class trip to Washington."
"But..! You said you would..."
"It's my money. Stop talking to me. I don't want to speak with you."
"...sorry"
I stared down at my hands. It felt as if I moved even a little bit. My mother would get reminded of another thing I did wrong. The car ride home remained silent except for a few more bursts of insults stabbing into my heart.
In high school, I became obsessed with robotics. The Robotics Club was one of my primary sources of happiness and pain. I was the main programmer in a team of 5. However, none of my teammates cared for robotics. Throughout the school year, I spent up to 6 hours after school designing, rebuilding, and testing the autonomous mode for my robot. My mother often picked me up in the late afternoons. She knew of my situation because she was the only person I could talk to. Sometimes, she would come with me and get ice cream or treat me to a meal if it was a particularly stressful day after robotics. It was a day like any other. I was frustrated with my teammates and wanted to rant about it. My mother sat in the front, and I sat beside her in the passenger's seat. Suddenly, my mother spoke up.
"Do you really care about Robotics?"
What?
"Ma, I've been telling you how I always work on the robot. You know how long I spend on it!"
"If you really cared about robotic, why are there no results? What a silly girl... Are you even working on the robot?"
"What? I am! You know how much this means to me. I worked on the robot all the time. I worked on building the robot when no one else was. I worked on the programming when no one else was. I work on everything. Of course, I don't get results when all the other teams have every member working on it every day after school next to me."
"Well, have you thought that maybe you should get your teammates to work on it, too?"
"Yes! I have thought of that. I schedule meetups after school, but no one comes. I even bought donuts and drinks with my own money! But they don't work. I-"
"I don't need your excuses. You just aren't trying hard enough."
"Ma-"
"Stop. I don't want to hear anymore. Don't talk to me."
"But..."
I quieted down after a glare from her. She was so infuriating sometimes. She knew how much I cared, how much time I spent. But the more I repeat her words, the more I wonder, am I wasting my time? Have I been doing absolutely nothing? My robotics team hasn't won anything significant. After going through so many tournaments and always being behind compared to everyone else, robotics suddenly wasn't fun anymore. It was tiring, and my passion had died a little in my heart. Was I wasting my mother's money? She had done so much for me, and this was all I could give her.
As years passed, her lectures kept coming. I used to fight back, yelling my heart out to defend my position. "I did try!" I would plead, "Please, believe me." But my mother never thought so during our silent periods.
Whenever I got into the car with my mother, I often anticipated the worst.
"I'm a little tired..." I would say, "I'm going to take a nap."
"Ok," My mother responds.
This was the best way to avoid the grating conversation with her. I would plug in my earbuds and force myself to fall asleep. Music became my escape. The lyrics and melody made me drift into a new world where nothing mattered. I would often get caught up in all the stories in my head. A song I always fall back on is "Sober Up" (AJR 2017). No matter how many times I rewind the song, it never gets old. The lyrics make me regret not holding onto my childhood more, and I wish I could go back to the days when I felt like my mom would always be there for me. Won't you help me feel something again?
Car rides didn't seem as terrifying anymore, though I would still occasionally get caught in conversation before I declared my sleepiness.
On a particular drive to Duluth, my mother began her usual lecture. I ignored her, but something was different. The tears that often consumed me were no longer there. Her words slowly faded away.
"... can't you try harder? Why is it that- Hey, are you ignoring me?"
"Mmm," I said.
"Yu Zhou, listen to me. I am trying to help you."
"Mmm"
"Listen to me. We are talking about your college essays. Don't you care about your future?"
"Mmm," I repeat.
A long pause came over us. We ignored each other for 20 minutes before the car halted in traffic.
"Why are you so distant all of a sudden? Am I doing something wrong?" I could hear her clear her throat.
"Mm"
"Why are you so difficult? I'm just trying to do the best for you. Please don't ignore me. I've worked all my life to put a roof over your head and let you live comfortably." My mother swallowed a sob.
A new song began to play through my earbuds.
"..."
"I drive you every day to wherever you need me to. I became a housewife just so I could help you succeed!"
I could hear "Yes I'm a Mess" start in my right ear (AJR 2023).
"..."
I felt something clench in my throat.
"What am I doing wrong? Please... tell me... I want to change..." My mother cries softly.
I could tune her out for a car ride, but the lyrics reminded me how running away from my problems didn't make me happy. My actions only alienated me from the people I care most about.
I glance back at her, and I look away quickly. For some reason, I don't feel anything. I'm a horrible person. My mother rarely cries. A twisted feeling arises. Isn't it funny how the role is reversed? Whenever she wants me not to talk to her, I'm left to scream in silence, but when I don't want to talk, she's crying now. I'm a horrible person. Why am I doing this to my mother?
"... I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry too," My mom replies softly.
"I'm just scared... that you'll never be proud of me."
"I'm always proud of you. You were my second chance. You are the smartest person I know, and I was hoping you could use that talent. I want to become a better mother to you and someone you trust. Please tell me what to do differently." My mom wipes her tears away with a hand as she grips the wheel with the other.
"... Thank you. I guess... I never heard you say those words to me." I replied.
I looked back at her.
"Maybe," I say, "I think I want to try one more time."
Returning to the crowd surrounded by my classmates, I glanced back at the plaque I received. I snapped a picture of the plaque and sent a quick message to my mom: "4th place in the state!" After a few seconds, I saw the small thought bubble appear and then disappear: "Congratulations! I love you so much."
Background music: Instrumental version of "Weak" by AJR