Woman: I've grown weary of this discontent between us. And through your silence, I can hear your disappointment and I must respond. First, most important, I see you for you. You do not know this, but I understand who you are-- all you dream, all you want. How could I not? I am your mother. You are me.

You are also your father. This is much harder for me to share, because I was brought up not to share, not to tell such things. But I can see that you, growing up here, are very different and need to hear.

When your father died, my love died with him. He and I, you know, were brought together by our parents. We did not know each other before. They knew what was right for us and our families. He and I, we were right. When he died, I felt my heart blacken and blow away in the wind with his ashes.

But you were still here, and you needed a mother. This made things better-- and worse. Better because I still had someone who loved me and needed me. But worse, too, because you are so much like him. You do not know this, but you are a mirror to him, with your independence and willfulness. Even small things, like the way you must arrange things on your desk.

For all those years, looking at you caused me so much pain. And I punished you for that pain, for being who you are and for what I had lost.

My greatest fear now is for the past. Do not turn your back on your history just because you look at me with distaste. You may be American, but you also have running through you the blood of our family, our history, our culture. Do not forget.

Your choices are yours. I cannot make you do anything. Marriage, career-- you must do what you think is best. Your father and I planned our happiness in the same plan I've tried to lay out for you. But if you find this path wrong, you must find your own path.

But know I no longer see in you a shadow of your father. I see you, now, only as you, and I treasure you.