I remember one of the few times my mother ever talked to me about love was this kind of love. I was 13 years old. She heard that I had met a boy that I liked.
My mother was sitting in our small kitchen with another Hmong woman from our church. She said, “Kaab, I don’t want you to talk to him any longer.”
“Why?” I asked half-heartedly because like all teenage girls I already knew everything I needed to know about love at 13 years old.
“He comes from a high-ranking family in the Hmong community, and his family has money. You’re from a poor family and you have nothing to give.”
“We’re just talking, mom,” I stated. “It’s not like we’re going to get married.”
The other Hmong woman chimed in, “Listen to your mother. This boy and you are not a good fit.”
“No matter what happens his family will never look at you as an equal.”
I did go on to date that boy, but his family’s money never did make it into our relationship. There were so many other boundaries that our love couldn’t overcome.
It’s not that I don’t believe love has no boundaries. It’s that I believe love is not that naive.