Dear Mama and Papa,
She took a deep breath and steeled herself as she put pen to paper again.
I know we didn't get to see each other very much. I know you didn't get to watch my excited, seven year old little self get my hair dyed from onyx black to dull brown so that I could fit in and then get streaks of blue, purple, and pink just so I could stand out again.
She laughed to herself, sadly and quietly, alone in the room.
I know you're not here now to see my roots growing back in, after years of dying over them, and I know you both wish you could. I know I've made decisions you didn't get to talk with me about. You weren't there when I got my ears pierced all up and down, when I got little holes poked in ny upper lip and tongue so I could adorn them with small studs at the age of thirteen. You didn't get to watch me regret my decision the very next day, when all the students poked fun at me for them. You didn't hear the things they said:
"You're trying too hard."
"You finally found out that nobody likes you, didn't you?"
"You look like some stripper whose daddy didn't treat her right so she turned out all wrong."
"Yeah, what's your stage name, (Y/N)?"
"The Orient Whore? 'We'll pay you to fuck her!' That's how bad she is, I bet."
You weren't there when they all laughed cruelly, weren't there to protect me from their words, weren't there to help me when I ran home, crying my eyes out.
She sniffled and her eyes stung from the sensation of new tears.
You didn't get the call from the principal about my absence from school that day. You weren't proud of my decision to get headphones to drown out the hurtful words instead of turning to some vice; weren't proud that I didn't turn to drugs or alcohol. When I did turn to some vice, you weren't there to stop me. You didn't have to be afraid for my life because you never had the chance to notice the puffiness of my eyes or the red lines that peppered my arms and legs, the ones that began appearing a year later at the age of fourteen.
She rubbed her arm, tracing a finger over the first cut through her new school uniform's shirt and jacket.
You couldn't attend the parent-teacher conference when my grades started failing or encourage me to do better afterwards. I remember when I stopped coming home, but neither of you did anything. I would go to the park between school and home where you used to take me when I was very little. I would linger there until the moon had passed it's apex and the twinkling stars had already made their best efforts to cheer me up after a demoralising day before finally walking the rest of the distance home. You never heard me sneaking in late at night and climbing the stairs to my room and collapsing on the bed and laying there in my day clothes until the sun peeked at me from my window a few hours later. You didn't notice the bags that settled firmly and darkly under my eyes as days and weeks and months passed on and on the same way; with no sleep.
She began to tire as her note dragged on and the setting sun filtered into the open room, staining it all shades of red, orange, pink, and purple.
You didn't approve of my efforts toward emancipation the exact day I turned sixteen, after years of lookong forward to it. Overcoming the obstacles, I was granted my freedom and I was gone the next week.
Her lips quivered and her face contorted as she continued to hold back tears, even as they persisted and blurred her vision.
I know I never came to say goodbye. I never told you where I was going. I was just gone the next morning. Despite my sudden disappearance, you didn't look for me. Not even once. You never went to my disheveled room and cried out, Mama. And you never ran outside and interrogated the neighbors and desperately begged the police to find me, Papa.
The tears spilled over and pooled on her cheeks as she bit her lip to keep from losing her composure as her glasses fogged up from the moisture.
But, in light of all that, I'm not mad. I'm not angry, I'm not sad, and I never will be. Not with you. I know you loved me. And I know you never wanted to leave. I know you wish you could've seen my face as I stepped out into Tokyo when my flight out of Texas landed. I know you wish you could have ridden on the train with me and watch the scenery pass by as it took me out to my new home. I know you wish you could've watched me model my new uniform as I flaunted in the mirror. I know you wish you could've listened to me talk about how I had run into the gym that the boys' volleyball team was practicing in over dinner. I know you wish you could try and talk me into joining as a manager, even though you know I can do it on my own, without the encouragement, because you raised me right. Mama and Papa, I love you. I don't know if you know that I love you. But I want you to know. I know I never came to visit you after your funeral. I know I should have and I know you would have loved it. But I'm writing this letter now so that you will never forget that I love you, even if you are in doubt.
With much love, your daughter and only child, (your full name).