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September 20, 2019
Mom's sitting on the front porch. Coffee cup steaming. She's concentrating on the Sunday crossword—I know this from the familiar furrow on her forehead. I steady myself for an anticipated verbal abuse. OK, here, see...I exaggerate. Mom loves me, I'm sure of this. Just, sometimes I'm scared of her too much, scared that if I do something wrong she will eventually stop loving me. But today she smiles at me: "I bought you nilupak. It's still warm, bonito." I love when she calls me this. Sometimes, my heart can't contain this love for her, it feels like bursting.