To my beloved mother.

My name is Tracey Nguyen, and I am a 33 year old Vietnamese Canadian. Though I am born and raised in Canada, the blood that has run through my veins has carried a history of war, death, pain, rage and an unravelling story of what feels like to me, a god-like forgiveness. My grandma and my mother both endured the Vietnam war and I am incredibly proud of the resilience, strength and unconditional Love they continue to radiate. I dedicate this story to my beloved mother and her strength.

I have one image in my head and it's from the story my mother has told me when I was younger. She described to me what it was like to be an 8-year old living in the war. For two years, my mother skipped school because of the bombings. She lived full-time underground in the trenches; and she described that her feet were always dirty and the only thing she ate everyday was boiled potatoes to survive. Can you imagine eating only potatoes for two years?

My mother also cared for her baby sister while her parents went to work everyday; and everyday she would wonder if her mother (my grandma) would come back alive. Every time a bomb went off, it only left her wondering. Tears roll down my face as I am writing this paragraph.

At 16 years old, my brave mom chose to flee her country in the hopes of a safer and better future. At 16, she left everything she knew behind, for a chance of a better life than the poverty and third world terrain. For 14 days on the boat, she had one very small bowl of rice to eat, just once a day. Among her, other mothers and babies starved and other women were raped.

After the boat sank, after almost drowning, she was saved to shore.

For 5 years, she lived in a refugee camp, where there was limited food, clothes and privacy. It wasn't safe and it was scarce. As a young and attractive woman, she had to be careful of possible raping. She had to sleep with her belongings underneath her pillow or it'd be stolen. She had to guard her only other pair of underwear while it was drying, or it'd be stolen. For 5 years, from 18-23 years old, my mom lived like this.

A year later, she met my dad and she gave birth to me. 3 years after that, my baby sister was born. My childhood was good, in a sense that we always had an abundance of good food to eat and a warm roof over our heads, with all the physical things we needed. But it was stressful, strict and everything in the environment, including our behaviour was controlled to perfection. My parents fought a lot and it affected me deeply as I was always an empathic child. Intergenerational and survival trauma, started to take a toll on my old soul.

I started having chronic health issues at 18, and it started with shallow breathing, stress-induced asthma, and yeast. Then at 21, I was diagnosed with irritable bowel syndrome. At 25, I was then diagnosed with asthmatic bronchitis; at 26 I was diagnosed with leaky gut syndrome and candida overgrowth. In between all of this, my romantic relationships, personality, career and emotions were very unstable and chaotic.

For 8 years, I was actively healing from quiet borderline personality disorder, covert narcissistic personality traits, multiple personality disorder, dissociative identity disorder, obsessive love addiction, enmeshment trauma and co-addiction.

I was so royally messed up, that I had to quit normal societal living and become "a monk" while my parents supported me. I hated myself and I hated my life. At times, I had suicidal thoughts. Often I thought, "it'd be easier if I wasn't here." I wouldn't have survived such dark times in my life, had I not had my mom's unconditional Love and unwavering emotional support.

Everyday for 3 years, she sat there for hours and listened to me wail and mourn my heart and soul out. Everyday, she patiently stood in her love, and witnessed my internal instability and chaos I was dealing with.

For about 2 years, she unconditionally understood my need to express my rage within myself and for the family. She listened to me, scream, bawl and repeatedly and therapeutically punch the pillows and the mattress. If she does not symbolize Mother Gaia, I don't know who does.

My mom was there to pick up my shattered pieces, when boyfriends would continue to break me, as I continued to break myself. She was there to forgive me when I lost my emotional temperament on her. In many ways, and for many years she was my saviour and my light from my own toxicity, abusive and addictive relationships.

Slowly on my own, when I was ready, I had let her go as my saviour when I learned to finally save myself. Now, we are each other's light.

Today, we often leave each other whatsapp messages to celebrate life. We both believe and have faith that God has plans for us. I share with her my victories and triumphs, in my dating and business life; and she shares with me how peaceful her days are with my dad. I am grateful for them both.

My mother and I, are women who have together through the years, healed our voices, healed our boundaries and have risen from cultural and intergenerational oppression. We are women together who forgive, let go and surrender to living more peaceful and graceful lives.

To my mother - "I will always be there for you as you have been undeniably there for me; I vow to continue to grow and become the kind and gentle soul that may take care of you when you need help when you are old, and be the love that will bring you feelings of peace always. If I had to go through what I went through and endure lifetimes of darkness again, I would without hesitation do it again, if it meant that you are my mom; that is how great your love is."

Love,

Tracey