Mongolmom: The Space Between

Mongolmom: The Space Between:   The Space Between I grew up in a house filled with echoes. Echoes of a language I once knew but lost. Not because I wanted to— but because...

The Space Between

 

The Space Between

I grew up in a house filled with echoes.

Echoes of a language I once knew but lost.

Not because I wanted to—

but because a teacher told my parents,

“Speak to her only in English. It will be easier for her.”

So they did.

And just like that, my mother tongue faded,

locked away in a place I could no longer reach.

At school, I learned quickly—

not just math and history,

but how to exist without making waves.

How to smile when they mimicked my lunch,

how to laugh when they asked,

“But where are you really from?”

I looked around and saw no one like me.

And when I did,

they measured me first—

“What kind of Asian are you?”

As if my worth could be defined by a country,

as if failing their silent test

meant I wasn’t enough.

At home, my parents carried ghosts I couldn’t name.

They filled the silence with indulgence,

with distractions,

with wounds passed down but never healed.

Love came in fragments—

unspoken lessons, quiet expectations,

the unspoken rule: assimilate.

And yet, my home was also filled with worlds.

My parents, seekers of stories,

brought pieces of other cultures into our lives.

We ate foods from places we had never been,

celebrated traditions that weren’t ours

but felt like they could be.

I learned there was no one right way to live,

that the world was vast, intricate, fascinating.

That belonging didn’t have to mean just one thing.

But outside, the world demanded boxes.

They wanted me to be one or the other,

to fit neatly into a label,

to pick a side and stay inside it.

And when I couldn’t, they called me lost.

Maybe that’s why my mind has always searched,

jumping from thought to thought,

grasping at patterns, connections, meanings.

They called it scattered.

They called it unfocused.

But I call it expansive.

Because I am not just one thing.

I am the words I lost and the ones I’ve claimed.

I am the cultures I’ve embraced,

the flavors, the languages, the traditions I’ve learned.

I am the bridge between histories,

the space between expectations.

I am not lost.

I do not need to be just one thing.

I exist in the space between.

And that space is mine.

By; Tergel U. Pigg 02. 18. 2025