I just finished talking to my mother, shouting, may I clarify. Like always, I felt so awful during the talk and even more awful after this talk. As I recall our conversation as well as conversations we had before this one, I do not understand why I get so mad every time I talk to her. But as soon as I hanged up my phone, regrets prevailed in my heart. She is always so kind on the other side of the phone, seven thousand miles away in China. She would have shouted back if we were to talk face to face. But she did not do so in the phone. She is always so patient in the phone maybe because she does not want us not to talk to each other for a month, maybe because she feels it enough for her to hear my voice, no mater nice or mean, maybe because she does not want me to have no one to turn into when I have a hard time here in Tabor, maybe because she understands that I am not in a good mood every time I talk to her, maybe because she is my mom. I hope she understands how much I love her even though I shout at her in the phone, hope she still loves me as much as she did before the phone call, hope she does not cry alone on the other side of the phone, and hope she is happy and healthy with or without me on her side.

“Please, just a little more patience next time.”