I’ve Replaced My Mom With My Grandma


I’m not sure if it’s the language barrier, but my grandma’s from Korea and often I find myself nodding along, not because I understand every word, but because her voice feels familiar even when the meaning escapes me.

But it doesn't matter. She loves me. She doesn’t judge me. She tells me to be strong, reminds me of all the good things I have in my life, and insists that I fight for the things I love. Somehow, she just gets me. 

Every phone call ends with a playful standoff, a little game of “Who will hang up first?” She stretches out an “ I love youuuu” that I can practically hear through this text and of course I tell her I love her even more.  

I feel so lucky to have this bond with my grandma, to be at a point in my life where I can turn to her for wisdom. She lives in Sacramento now, and even with the distance, she’s become one of the people I trust most. Lately, I’ve been daydreaming about hopping on a flight up there one random Thursday and being back in L.A. just in time for Tuesday’s class.

We laugh about how distant my mother can be-it’s this unspoken understanding between us. It’s kinda perfect, really. I get to tell my grandma all the things I need my mom to know, and she relays the message, like a generational game of telephone. If something upsets me, I tell my grandma, who tells my mom. Its efficient. 

But every now and then, she’ll tell me she’s feeling old. I hate when she says that. Even if it’s true, I like to imagine that ignorance is bliss when it comes to her aging. She’s my grandma — she’s timeless to me. I always tell her that age is just a number, even though I genuinely have no idea what her number is. She once promised that if I ever made it to Sacramento, she’d show me her driver’s license. A part of me doesn’t want to know.

My grandma grew up during the Korean War, when birth certificates weren’t always issued or preserved, so she never really knew her true birthday. She was also the eldest of eight siblings. I’m an only child, so I’ve always admired the strength it must have taken to grow up with that kind of responsibility — the weight she carried long before I ever knew her.

I love her so much I wish I could just keep her in my purse, tucked away, always there when I need her.