For as long as I can remember, I spent Wednesday nights watching TV with my mom. We’ve devoted years to tuning into a myriad of reality competition shows, but “Survivor” has always held a special place in our hearts. Week after week, she and I would frequently discuss the castaway chaos unfolding on screen. Whether reacting to devastating blindsides, complaining about annoying tribe members, or laughing about showhost Jeff Probst’s commentary, “Survivor” allowed my Mom and I to revel in each other’s company.

While we don’t get to watch “Survivor” together like we used to, I look forward to getting a weekly “Have you seen the new episode yet?” text from her. Every time I press play, I think about sitting with my mom as a kid, completely happy just to be in each other’s company.

I love you, Mom. If there was ever another season of “Survivor: Blood vs. Water,” I wouldn’t let anyone vote you off.

– Sonia McSwain, Creative & Projects Editor

My mother has always loved country music. When I rode in her car as a kid, the soundtrack was the same no matter where we were going. Over time, I started to identify some of my mom’s favorites — Keith Urban, Tim McGraw, and Carrie Underwood. 

I have never enjoyed country music. In fact, I loathed it as a kid. But as I grew older, I began to understand that, to my mother, country is less of a genre and more of a symbol. For someone who immigrated to the United States from Taiwan at 14 years old, she felt a sense of belonging in America when she listened to country songs. 

In sharing this music with me, she showed me how she embraced a culture that once felt foreign to her. Now, whenever I hear country music, I am instantly reminded of the sacrifices my mom made so I could feel at home in a country she once had to navigate all by herself.

Car rides with my mother still consist of listening to that same country radio station. Although I may not enjoy the music, I can now understand how much it means to her. Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. 我愛你.

– Meng-Shan Otero, Contributing Writer

I owe my love for reading to my mom. Some of my best memories take place in my childhood room, curled up next to her, reading everything from Dr. Seuss stories to chapter books. She always prioritized reading, both in and out of school, and supplied me with a never-ending stream of books growing up. Because of her, I fell in love with the “Ramona Quimby” books and the “Harry Potter” series.

Now that I’m an adult, our reading recommendations go both ways. Although we gravitate toward different genres at times, I always look forward to our daily phone calls — especially when we talk about the books we’ve read. 

I love you, Mom! Thank you for encouraging a skill that has molded my life and influenced me to major in literary arts. My happy place is Sunday evenings spent reading on the couch with you.

– Avery Heid, Senior Staff Writer

When I think back to my favorite memories with my mom, many of them lead back to Taylor Swift. From singing every word of her songs in the car to counting down album releases and tour announcements together, Swift’s music has been part of our lives for as long as I can remember. 

Getting to see Swift live with my mom are memories I know I’ll carry with me forever. I remember being completely in awe of the lights and energy in the Rose Bowl Stadium when we went to the Reputation Stadium Tour in 2018. Years later, as I stood beside my mom at the Eras Tour, I relived those same childhood memories while realizing just how much life had changed since then. Somewhere between friendship bracelets and screaming lyrics with 70,000 strangers, I realized that those nights were about more than just music. 

As I grow older, I see how so much of my confidence, work ethic, and love for the arts began with my mom. She never just believed in my dreams; she helped me build them. 

I love you, Mom. Thanks for always being my No. 1 fan. 

– Kaitlyn Lots, Senior Staff Writer

My relationship with my mom has always reminded me of the one between Sophie and Donna in “Mamma Mia!” While I’ve never had to wonder who my dad is, my mom and I have also lived as just the two of us for significant periods of time. Just like Donna, my mom traversed thousands of miles to raise me in an unfamiliar country. And much like in the hit movie musical, we both tend to spontaneously belt ABBA songs whenever the feeling arises.

Over the years, I’ve remained unbelievably grateful to my mom, not just for introducing me to one of my all-time favorite movies, but also for her unwavering love and devotion. I don’t think anything in my life has been more consistent than my relationship with my mom, and I can’t wait until the day I get to see her perform “Super Trouper” at one of my major milestones.

I love you, Mom. Here’s to many more years of you hiding your face and pretending that you’re not tearing up whenever “Slipping Through My Fingers” comes on.

– Tara Vatandoust, A&E Editorial Assistant

“Above anything else,” my mom has always taught me, “Learn how to feel everything and shine that light back onto others.” In other words, have a hungry heart.

My mom grew up during the electrically romantic 1980s, when pop music was at its peak. The first record she ever owned was “Hungry Heart” by Bruce Springsteen, the 1980 single that thrust The Boss into the world’s floodlight. Now one of my favorite tracks to listen to while walking to class, the song’s first drumline hits like a fiercely-free dance on a backstreet enshrouded in darkness. As soon as the initial notes blast in my ears, I like to imagine my mom’s younger self dancing in the dark, born to run and tougher than the rest. She lights up every place she goes.

When we were kids, my sister and I would reluctantly sink into our seats whenever my mom turned to E Street Radio on SiriusXM. I learned in those moments, however, that, “ain’t nobody like to be alone.” My mom has shown me her heart — and her favorite artist — and, in turn, I have learned how to show mine.

Tend to the hungry heart and secret garden within you. Let them grow freely, weeds and all, by finding your own light, even within the blackest pits of sorrow and despair. 

Thanks for letting me into your heart, Mom. Your beauty inspires me, and I love you so much.

– Winter Moritz, Senior Staff Writer

I don’t know what my mom was thinking when she handed down her black iPod Nano to me in first grade. How did she expect an antisocial child to grow into a well-adjusted adult when I could listen to entire worlds of music with no one to bother me? When I put in my first pair of wired headphones, I fell hard, no screen required, for a soundtrack of mostly pirated songs, both from the internet and my mom’s personal canon. 

Over the years, my mom has told me countless stories of her falling in love with ’90s alternative and nu metal, music that sounded unlike anything that came before it and made for surprisingly good stress relief. One of our shared favorites of the genre is Linkin Park’s “Hybrid Theory,” a true no-skips album. Back in 2000 in the Philippines, she and her younger cousin memorized the entire record by playing Mike Shinoda and Chester Bennington, respectively. I spent much of my childhood happily chasing the same angsty highs and lows of this album and others. Nowadays, I randomly start conversations with her to get her holy opinion on any lost ’90s media, as I like to call it. 

Thank you, Mom, for jumpstarting my lifestyle of never giving the day a chance. It is because of “you, now I see, even when I close my eyes.” I love you, and here’s to forever idolizing the glorious ’90s with you.

– Gabbi Basa, A&E Editor