To my mother, Jasmine

July 24, 2025

Dear Aunt Jasmine,

When I first met you, several things stood out to me. You were kind and gentle. You were strong, but you did not boast. Your strength only showed itself when necessary because you are wise and disciplined.

Upon meeting you, I did not understand why your first instinct was to nurture, especially when you are not my kin. Yet from the very beginning, you loved me deeply, and I became your niece.

I am grateful for your kindness, even when it costs you something. You always pray for me and speak the most thoughtful words. I remember early on in knowing you, you told me that you often spoke to your husband about me. You said, “I love my niece. That’s my baby," and I was so very flattered.

Since first knowing you, I was drawn to your gentleness and comfort. Though I am an orphan, you did not fill a vacant space. I chose you just as much as you chose me. I didn’t understand why, but from the earliest moments, my loyalty, trust, and desire naturally aligned with you despite external circumstances and affiliations.

When I was really sad last year, you encouraged me. I wrote a poem because I was so joyous. In one part of the poem, I remember a realisation I had—that it is not the quantity of the relationship but the quality that matters. I’ve known you for so little time, yet you speak to me as if you’d known me your entire life.

I am joyful when the Lord brings you to my remembrance because my tears have turned into the kind of laughter that melts into my soul.

Though I love many things about you equally, I believe that it is your words that stand out to me. They nourish me, like water to a parched flower, and I often think back to them. Your words are like beautiful roses blossoming in the spring, and there are no thorns that come with them.

My favourite things that you have said to me are how you are always here, and I never have to worry about your absence, for you love me dearly.

As beautiful as your words are, I do find fault. I often find that the word ‘aunt’ clashes with the things you tell me, and it confused me for some time. You’ve told me that you are not here for a season but to stay, and that you are here to nurture, protect, and cover me.

You’ve said that I’m like your big kid and that you understand that you're a mother-figure to me. I remember when you used the words 'mother figure', and I wanted to be honest about how I felt, but I wasn't. My mouth was tied shut, for I didn’t want to scare you or myself.

I do not find peace calling you 'Aunt Jasmine', not when your role is so foundational. It is strange to call you my aunt when you are my mother and have been since the very beginning.

February 13, 2026

To my mother, Jasmine,

I see how hard you try to show up, but the love I have for you is not dependent on how well you can be there when bad things happen. I am getting older, and I understand that life happens. We both encounter our own things.

I think the tendency to equate our worth and value with visible labour is the most human thing about us. If there is no visible labour, we instinctively question how something can be meaningful.

But do try to understand how much joy and purpose can be born from the simplest moments together. There doesn’t have to be a perfect time to talk or catch up. Life is busy, and we can find time in the busyness. People are made to adapt to each other's unpredictability.

Since we first met, something you’ve consistently told me is how God placed you in my life, and I remember telling you that I feel less lonely now. Even when we spoke about living together, I was so excited, not because you were pulling me out of trauma but because of the joy that could come from it.

I was happy about the idea of belonging to a good family. I was excited to be an older sister and to have a mother who sings. When we got off the phone, I was actually embarrassed because I didn’t mean to admit any of that.

Nonetheless, I was simply excited to spend time together. I didn't only want to be taken into consideration when I was hurting.

Yes, I’m going through a lot. Yes, sometimes I just need someone. But most times, needing someone is wanting to love and be loved.

I understand that God told you to be there for me. To cover me. To protect me. To listen to me. To comfort me. To nurture me. But sometimes nurture means enjoying life together through the mundane moments.

I’m not asking you to sacrifice yourself for me because motherhood is not a sacrifice of oneself. I just want to enjoy the simple moments together and know you as a person.

April 28, 2027

My dearest mother, Jasmine,

This is the letter that you will not read, for I am writing this to myself.

I am a woman now, or at least, I am becoming one. This is a strange phase of my life, though I am grateful not to experience it alone. You have taught me what it means to be a person in only a few short years.

Everyone either wishes to be like their parents or to be the opposite of them. I am blessed to want the prior. When I think about what it means to be a woman, I often find myself thinking of you.

I believe that many people are too quick to count themselves as wise when they are in fact foolish. However, I believe that you are one of the rare individuals to embody wisdom.

You are caring and strong; quiet and loud; bold and meek; passionate and tempered.

I cannot label you as one, for you are many things, and I believe that maybe, this is what it means to be a woman—disciplined in many traits, quick to listen, and willing to be corrected.

Those are rare traits indeed, though they shouldn’t be.

I think that I am getting there, though I do often find myself ensnared by the passions of my youth. However, I am hopeful after the stories you told me when you were this young because I know that I am still being shaped.

And what an honour it is that you have partaken in this shaping.