I am an ordinary housewife and mother approaching 60 this year. I now live quietly in Philadelphia, but in the early days of immigration, I lived fiercely like everyone else. I graduated from college in Korea and worked for a few years as an accountant in a small company before stepping onto American soil following my husband. My brother-in-law, who studied in the U.S. and settled down after marriage, had already established himself here, and through family sponsorship, my husband and I embarked on our immigration journey to Philadelphia.

The first ten years were truly intense. I sold wigs and accessories to customers in a Black neighborhood, while my husband was busy working in wholesale. We both ended our days cleaning up after closing the shop and asking about our daughter's school life. I still struggle with English, and small talk with strangers remains uncomfortable. Nevertheless, with the money we earned through hard work, we managed to open a small store, buy a house, and most importantly, raise my daughter well. That is my greatest pride in life.

My only daughter studied hard and got into the University of Pennsylvania's pharmacy school, and now she has a stable job as a pharmacist. She may not be the most stylish person to show off, but her neatness and ability to manage her own affairs, along with living comfortably, make me incredibly proud as her mother. To be honest, I sometimes wonder how many women who are happily married today are better off than my daughter. However, despite that pride, I can't help but sigh inwardly whenever the topic of marriage comes up.

Thirty-five. That's my daughter's age. In the past, she would be at the age of elementary school, but my daughter is still single. I know she has dated a few times while working, but those relationships never lasted long. Sometimes I wonder if she has become indifferent to such feelings, and it pains my heart. Does she not want to get married, or has she just not met the right person yet? When I ask, she just smiles and says, "It's okay, Mom," and brushes it off.

My daughter is quite stubborn. Even now, she only hangs out with her close Korean friends from childhood. Yet, she never brings home a Korean man. Although being a U.S. citizen, there shouldn't be any issues with bringing a Korean man, but these days, Korean men don't seem to aspire to come to America like before, nor do they want to come as sons-in-law. I feel like my daughter is the one who is not opening her heart. I now think that having an American son-in-law wouldn't be so bad. Even though cultures and languages are different, young people today communicate more flexibly.

Sometimes when I go to the market, what catches my eye more than the products are the children. Cute little kids holding hands, and when friends at church boast about their grandchildren's photos, I sit silently. My husband always says, "It's her fate. We've done our part," but I find it hard to accept. A child's life is theirs to live, but a parent's worries are not just a matter of fate.

I occasionally mutter to myself, "I poured all my youth into raising this one child, and it hurts so much to see her alone..." Daughter, I respect and support whatever life you choose, but my small wish is to see you sharing your life and laughing with someone.

If one day you show up holding hands and say, "Mom, this is the one," that day will feel like another reward in my life.

While waiting for that day, I quietly set the dinner table today as well, with one worry in my heart.