His mother never had a headache; my mother always suffered from them. His mother made him breakfast every day; my mother slept until noon and I cooked for my siblings. His mother never smacked him for failing a test; my mother said I studied hard to make up for lack of intelligence, even though I aced all subjects. His mother hugged him every day; my mother never held my hand. His mother loved him; my mother just wished she never had me. So often I wished I could be a son like him. My mother sighed and wished the same.
Huina Zheng writes as an admission coach at work and writes for fun after work.