In 2016 my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. This information was a shock to my family, and we quickly received support from our scattered relatives all around the globe. She underwent treatment, and in 2017, when I was 11 years old, I remember the doctors declared her to be cancer free. However in November of 2020, after an already difficult year of lockdown, her cancer was redetected at an even further stage. This was devastating news for my family, and especially for my mother. To battle her cancer the doctors suggested a year of chemotherapy, a process whereby the patient receives regular injections of powerful chemicals to kill cells in the body which regenerate quickly, such as skin, hair, and of course cancerous cells. At the beginning of chemotherapy, my mother would try to distract herself by committing to house renovation and improvement projects, like repainting our walls from a dingy yellow to a cool blue or replacing the low-quality vinyl in our bathrooms with ornate blue and white stones. While these activities improved the look of our home and served to distract her from health concerns, there were times, especially during the final months of chemotherapy, where she would be bedridden, too weak to walk, and talk about how lonely she felt. At first, her loneliness was confusing to me because my sister, father and I were always home due to lockdown, but one day while she was lying on the couch, she explained to me that although she wasn’t literally lonely, she felt cut off from her family and culture. My mother is a native Vietnamese. She moved to the U.S. with my father shortly after giving birth to me, and up until this moment, I had never really realized how isolated our family was from my mother’s family (who all immigrated to four different continents). For someone to move away from everything they had ever known, like my mother did with my father, takes a lot of courage, something my mother repeatedly demonstrates. And although our family upholds certain Vietnamese traditions and our lifestyle is clearly different from the average American household, neither I nor my sister speak Vietnamese well, and in many ways, we are cut off from our ancestral culture. My mother’s explanation resonated with me and continues to. Not only did she reinforce the value of family, something my family has been able to happily pursue in traveling and other activities since her recovery in mid-2021, but that of culture and having metaphorical “roots”, being able to connect who you are to your grandparents, and generations passed. Since then I’ve embarked on a journey in pursuit of my mother’s culture, especially in Language. In my Sophomore year of Highschool, I completed my International Baccalaureate Personal Project on the topic of Vietnamese, and the culture of Vietnam, and in 2022 my family spent a summer in Vietnam, where I took language classes three times a week, following which I was able to successfully have a conversation with my Vietnamese Grandmother for the first time. Nowadays I continue to practice Vietnamese with my mother at home and have immersed myself in Linguistics, learning about languages and their histories. I hope to continue this passion throughout University with a major in Linguistics and will return to Vietnam with my family in 2024 to celebrate the Lunar New Year. But for igniting that spark of interest I’d like to thank my mother, who even while bedridden allowed me to ask her questions and supported my interests. I love you, Mom.