For most of us, Mother's Day was yesterday. We gave gifts, flowers, and cards, did brunch and dinner things with the special women in our lives, and tried to give them the best day possible. While it's nice to have a special day allotted solely to motherly affection, we should be very careful not to let this commercial hurrah be the only reason we celebrate our moms.

So here is a protest of sorts of my own, a rebellion against the idea that my mom is only important once a year besides her birthday. This is the essay I wrote as my personal statement for my undergraduate degree, and the only one I wrote for that purpose. Aside from pretty much being a love letter to my mother, it also got me into every school I applied for. All these years later, I still think she's magic, and she's still my inspiration—yesterday, today, and every day to come. I love you Mom!

It’s like magic. Fish fillets line up in the bottom of the sink, then Adobo, paprika, Old Bay, and hot sauce (no measuring cup necessary). Next, her hands mix it up, and it’s all ready to fry. It’s quick and easy, but it is a feat I can’t imagine myself achieving—I’m not a magician! Even though she’s a great chef, she always has us sample the food before she serves it. I used to wonder why, but now I see that sometimes, we need a second opinion for reassurance that we’ve done something well.

Of course, a magician never needs her fans to sing her praises to know that she is good at what she does (although it is nice to hear). However, it takes humility for my mother to realize that she may have room for improvement. She taught me this by always asking us to taste-test for her, despite the magnet on the fridge that declares her “Best Cook in the Hood!” When I was younger, I always felt so honored that she valued my opinion. Now I am careful in selecting people I trust to “taste-test” my work (and if you haven’t figured it out already, it’s not food!)

Who do you trust? Whose opinion gives you that reassurance (or guidance) that you want? For my mom, it is someone who knows what her dish is supposed to taste like—her way. I learned how to trust, and who to trust, from my mom. However, rather than taste my culinary artwork, I’d rather have people read my thoughts. My passion is writing. Since I was eight, I have preferred to express my own emotions on paper. I am a poet. Something about explaining to the world the jumble in my head excites me—gives me a rush. In any case, none of my writing goes public without being “tasted."

When I am finished with a writing piece, whether it is a poem or an essay, I take it to one of my closest teachers for review. I have some of my best friends read through it and critique the piece. I employ all my best resources to get as much feedback as I can from people who know what I am capable of. Whether I anticipate approval or suggestions for improvement, I ask—the exact same way my mom makes everyone in the house taste her dish before she says it’s done. So, even when I feel as if I’ve written my masterpiece, I still go back and check the reactions of my “PAEs" (Personal Assistant Editors).

I stood at the kitchen entry almost every night and watched my mom cook. I still think it’s magical how her hands flew around the kitchen, and how what looked like chaos was perfectly in sync. I know that it’s the result of years of practice and endless taste-tests and critiques taken into consideration. Knowing that, I’ve learned these lessons from my mom’s cooking makes me feel like one day, through my writing, I’ll be able to make a little magic of my own.

Post a rebellion of your own anywhere you like with the hashtag #MothersDayRebellion to join the movement!