Aubrey sat in the small, sunlit kitchen, the soft aroma of jasmine tea curling up from her cup. It reminded her of home — or, more accurately, reminded her of her mother’s home. Her fingers traced small circles on the smooth, wooden table as she listened to the familiar rhythms of her parents speaking in Cantonese over the phone. They spoke with a lilting cadence, each word woven with years of tradition and expectation.
Aubrey had moved out four years ago, setting up her own little apartment in the city. Yet, like an invisible thread, her mother’s voice still had the power to pull her back to the small, cluttered house surrounded by a well-tended garden of herbs and flowers. Jasmine had always been her mother’s favorite, a staple in both the garden and their conversations. “It keeps evil spirits away, you know. Keeps the house safe and pure,” her mother would say with a gentle smile.
The jasmine tea had come from a visit home last week. Her mother had filled a small bag with the dried flowers, and with it came the familiar refrain, ‘When will you find someone?’ Aubrey’s heart twinged. She imagined the weight of tradition, a centuries-old tapestry of familial ties and expectations draped around her shoulders.
Today, as she stared at the steam escaping slowly into the air, Aubrey felt the crisp edges of an internal struggle sharper than ever before. Her parents had built a life out of dreams and labor, hoping to see her, their only child, fulfilled — as they defined it. Yet, she was someone who found calm in solitude, who found joy in her work as a freelance illustrator, creating vibrant worlds that danced in watercolor and ink. Her sketches spoke her heart’s language, one she feared her family might never fully understand.
The expectations her parents carried were not heavy with malice, but with worry. In their eyes, each convention and tradition was a way to ensure her happiness and security. The idea of settling down, finding the right person, and building a family felt like a blueprint she was supposed to follow, but that clashed with the freedom she cherished and the stories she wanted to tell.
Aubrey’s phone buzzed, pulling her thoughts back into the room. It was a message from her cousin, Mei, announcing her engagement. There was a family gathering the following weekend, the perfect opportunity for yet another gentle nudge from both sets of parents. Her phone buzzed again: a message from her mother, reminding her to attend and asking, again, about her own love life.
Aubrey sighed. She looked at her reflection in the kitchen window, seeing the weight of unspoken words in her own eyes. She had always chosen silence over confrontation, a quiet agreement to keep peace rather than introduce discord. But in that moment, the weight felt different — heavier, perhaps, but more balanced.
As the days slipped past, the whisperings of doubt and duty curled around her, gentle yet persistent. She spent her days working on a new project, creating illustrations for a children’s book set in a magical version of her mother’s garden. The work was a sanctuary, a place where she controlled the narrative and where every character had the freedom she craved.
It wasn’t until the evening before the family gathering that clarity found her. Aubrey sat by her drawing desk, the room dimly lit by a soft lamp. The illustration was nearly finished. In the center of the garden stood a girl with wild hair and bare feet, holding a sprig of jasmine. Her expression was one of peace and quiet strength, standing alone but not lonely.
Something clicked in Aubrey’s mind as she studied her work. She realized that in her art, she had found her voice — the voice she needed to bring into her real life. The next morning, as soft rays of dawn broke through the blinds, Aubrey called her mother.
“Mamá,” she began, her voice steady but soft, “Can we talk? It’s about the gathering and some things on my mind.”
The conversation was gentle, a dance of words and emotions. Aubrey spoke of her love for her life as it was, of her passion for her work, and her happiness in her current path. She spoke of the weight of expectations and how they sometimes felt like they were pulling her away from her true self. Her mother listened quietly, the pauses between words pregnant with the weight of tradition and generational love.
“And what if you never find someone?” Her mother’s voice quivered, not with anger, but with an old fear surfacing.
“Then I will have my art. And I will have you,” Aubrey replied, her tone filled with warmth and reassurance. “And that will be enough.”
The line was quiet for a moment, then her mother spoke, “I just want you to be happy, Aubrey.”
Aubrey smiled, feeling a profound sense of clarity and connection. “I am happy, Mom. I promise.”
The kitchen was filled with sunlight now, warm and golden, as if the world had decided to embrace her spoken truth. The gentle tension in her heart began to unwind, replaced with a sense of peace. For the first time, Aubrey felt that the tapestry wrapped around her shoulders was one she could carry with pride.
She went to the family gathering that weekend, not with resistance, but with the quiet assurance of someone who had found their way home within themselves. And as she shared laughter and stories with her family, she realized that her life, like her art, was uniquely her own.
In that moment, the aroma of jasmine felt less like an expectation to meet and more like a simple reminder of where she came from, guiding her gently as she walked her own path.