Everything Comes Back To You

When I was a little girl, my parents were typical Asians in that their greatest fear was their daughter entangling herself in love and romance and, as a result, bringing shame to the family. A dutiful daughter — no matter how young or old — was innocent and oblivious to matters of the heart. My parents threatened to disown me. As frightening as my mom was, that fear didn’t squash my being boy-crazy. In the second grade, my girl friends and I would deliriously run at recess, screaming in delight as the cutest and most popular boys in class chased us among oak trees. In the third grade, a redhead named Mikey would prop up his chin in the cup of his hands and openly declare his affection for me. I still remember his long eyelashes fluttering in my face as he asked if he could announce his feelings to the entire school via the intercom. In the fifth grade, I almost fainted when the music teacher paired me with a tall skinny blonde, with whom I was to practice the waltz for a school performance. That would be my first time touching a boy’s hand. In middle school, I sometimes woke up early to turn the radio on, hoping a favorite song would come on to accompany my thoughts as they swirled around a particular boy. I didn’t understand what the big deal was about having a boyfriend or even just liking boys: I was still able to bring home good grades. Sure, I spent much of my time daydreaming about those boys. But, along with time wasted, there were the butterflies. Those flying insects soared and dipped in my stomach, they lifted my feet off the ground, and they brought warmth — and sometimes fire — to my cheeks. I kept my grade-school love life hidden from my parents and pledged that I would be different from them when the time came.

A few years ago, Danith’s teenaged niece came to live with us for two school years. In many ways (at least, I would like to think so), Elizabeth is like me. In middle school she wanted to excel. She wanted to have a friend with whom she shared deep roots. And she liked the boys. As far as we were aware, she had first tried at the romance pool when she was only in the third grade. In fact, she had inadvertently placed herself in a love triangle as an eight-year-old. After her parents discovered this, she vowed that she would never have a boyfriend again. I was very sympathetic. When Elizabeth moved in with us for her seventh grade year, Danith and I noticed that she possessed great qualities, among them were drive and spunk. We were the typical parent-figures in that we believed anything was possible for our niece. And that was when the fears set in for me as her guardian: what if Elizabeth became so entrenched in a relationship that it would ruin her future? I never threatened to disown Elizabeth as a tactic, but I did begin to speak to her about boys, explaining that they would occupy too much of her mind and that she needed her mind for the books. “You can like boys,” I said. “But don’t make them your boyfriend. This will cause you so many problems.” She never argued with me, always nodding her head and promising that she was listening to me. I found myself skeptical of her easy-to-please nature, though, so I began to make deals with her: get your bachelor’s degree first and then have as many boyfriends as you want!

My ridiculous, confusing attempt at influencing Elizabeth was not lost on me, but I couldn’t sit still and do nothing to help her secure her successful future. I knew that I couldn’t forbid her to like boys or even stop her from secretly starting a relationship with one. If she were as similar to me as I thought she was, then she was probably crushing on someone at that very moment. She was probably already spending hours at night wearing her earpieces and listening to a particular song on repeat, and wondering about her crush. Does he like me, too? That was when it hit me, how terrible was it to be listening to melodies that turned your insides into perfect fields for somersaults? Young love is green — of the most tender shade — and beautiful and real, and the height to which the young butterflies soar cannot be tethered by grown-up fears. There is something to be said about a first love.

A couple of years ago when Niall Horan began singing about a town, the lyrics consumed me. It wasn’t Danith who was occupying my mind during the song, but Daffy. Even today, when the guitar-strumming begins in my car, my mind goes back to our older daughter.

Waking up to kiss you and nobody’s there

The smell of your perfume still stuck in the air

It’s hard

Yesterday I thought I saw your shadow running round

It’s funny how things never change in this old town

So far from the stars

Wish I was there with you now

If the whole world was watching I’d still dance with you

Drive highways and byways to be there with you

Over and over the only truth

Everything comes back to you

Daffy was my first child. My first love.

January 30, 2019