 Dear Mom,
Hey. I’m not sure if what I’m going to say is appropriate to say to you. I hope that you never get your hands on this letter. I don’t want you to think that I hate you in any way, shape, or form. I definitely don’t want you to think less of me. Sometimes, I feel like you already think lowly of me, but then you brag about the accomplishments I’ve achieved and then I no longer think those dismal thoughts. I’m writing about you for a reason. For the past week, we’ve had a workshop called Mommy's Hands. You were the first woman I thought of. Admittedly, I didn’t think of you frequently but you were still there. Your name stared , no, glared back at me for most of the workshop considering the fact that I put you down for a lot of things. I put you down as nurturer, as the person that brings harm into my life, as the hitchhiker, and a few more. As much as I tried to keep your name from flowing from the ink of my pen, I couldn’t. Your name jumped around the page with starting truth to it. I hated it, yet loved it. When your name sat there for me to watch, it unnerved me. Your name on my paper made me remember things. Small things. Everyday things. Like how when I’m eating, you constantly remind me of my weight by the way you stare at the food that’s on its way to my mouth and by making hurtful comments of how I’m getting “bigger”. And when I don’t eat because I’m not particularly in the mood for eating, you pester me to eat and you still stare at the food on its way to my mouth. Like when I’m exited for a new something and you make a face of disdain at what I’m saying or doing and you say your classic “¿Oh si?” Without losing the sour face. You make me feel so small. Like I’m insignificant. Like in order for you to like me, I have to be someone completely different. I wish it wasn’t the case, but it is. Sometimes I think that maybe if I screamed all of this from the top of the apartment building, then you’d notice that those everyday things mean the universe to me. That when you do those things, I feel like crying and hiding from the world; that I feel like an ugly soul. Because if I’m not good enough for you, then how the hell am I good enough for anyone else? You’re name isn’t comprised of all bad things though, you’re also the good, the delight, the joy, and occasionally, the happy. The pride that shines on your face everytime I sing on stage at church, and when I come off a stage sweaty and sore for trying hard on a dance performance, and when I give you my occasional finished “masterpiece” even though it’s not something that would go up in a museum or gallery, brings me joy in knowing that you cherish the little things I rarely do. But most of all, I love how proud you seem when I wake up every morning with a big ass GOOD MORNING loud enough to awaken the whole apartment block. You seem so delighted when I smile at the silly things that our family does. Like when we bake, most of the batter ends up on the floor or in the trash or actually on the baking tray because of the countless mistakes I make while we’re working and you see me with endless laughter. Or when we go to my Abuela Martha’s house and we go down to the beach and make a hole big enough to bury my uncle vertically and just dance and do tricks around him while giggling hysterically. You especially seemed happy when you saw me smile during christmas because I got the only thing I asked for. These things all make me realize that I’m not as small as I sometimes feel and loved more than I think. I’m not sure if I’m quite ready to unearth and speak about the other things we have going on, but I’m pretty sure I will with a little more time. With sincere love, M.S
0 Comments
 Dear Mom,
Hey. I’m not sure if what I’m going to say is appropriate to say to you. I hope that you never get your hands on this letter. I don’t want you to think that I hate you in any way, shape, or form. I definitely don’t want you to think less of me. Sometimes, I feel like you already think lowly of me, but then you brag about the accomplishments I’ve achieved and then I no longer think those dismal thoughts. I’m writing about you for a reason. For the past week, we’ve had a workshop called Mommy's Hands. You were the first woman I thought of. Admittedly, I didn’t think of you frequently but you were still there. Your name stared , no, glared back at me for most of the workshop considering the fact that I put you down for a lot of things. I put you down as nurturer, as the person that brings harm into my life, as the hitchhiker, and a few more. As much as I tried to keep your name from flowing from the ink of my pen, I couldn’t. Your name jumped around the page with starting truth to it. I hated it, yet loved it. When your name sat there for me to watch, it unnerved me. Your name on my paper made me remember things. Small things. Everyday things. Like how when I’m eating, you constantly remind me of my weight by the way you stare at the food that’s on its way to my mouth and by making hurtful comments of how I’m getting “bigger”. And when I don’t eat because I’m not particularly in the mood for eating, you pester me to eat and you still stare at the food on its way to my mouth. Like when I’m exited for a new something and you make a face of disdain at what I’m saying or doing and you say your classic “¿Oh si?” Without losing the sour face. You make me feel so small. Like I’m insignificant. Like in order for you to like me, I have to be someone completely different. I wish it wasn’t the case, but it is. Sometimes I think that maybe if I screamed all of this from the top of the apartment building, then you’d notice that those everyday things mean the universe to me. That when you do those things, I feel like crying and hiding from the world; that I feel like an ugly soul. Because if I’m not good enough for you, then how the hell am I good enough for anyone else? You’re name isn’t comprised of all bad things though, you’re also the good, the delight, the joy, and occasionally, the happy. The pride that shines on your face everytime I sing on stage at church, and when I come off a stage sweaty and sore for trying hard on a dance performance, and when I give you my occasional finished “masterpiece” even though it’s not something that would go up in a museum or gallery, brings me joy in knowing that you cherish the little things I rarely do. But most of all, I love how proud you seem when I wake up every morning with a big ass GOOD MORNING loud enough to awaken the whole apartment block. You seem so delighted when I smile at the silly things that our family does. Like when we bake, most of the batter ends up on the floor or in the trash or actually on the baking tray because of the countless mistakes I make while we’re working and you see me with endless laughter. Or when we go to my Abuela Martha’s house and we go down to the beach and make a hole big enough to bury my uncle vertically and just dance and do tricks around him while giggling hysterically. You especially seemed happy when you saw me smile during christmas because I got the only thing I asked for. These things all make me realize that I’m not as small as I sometimes feel and loved more than I think. I’m not sure if I’m quite ready to unearth and speak about the other things we have going on, but I’m pretty sure I will with a little more time. With sincere love, M.S  I would have to say that my mom has made the biggest impact on my life. I believe this is true because without her I wouldn’t know a lot of things that I know now. My father isn’t in my life, well I mean he tries to but I won’t let that happen because of the choices he decided to make that caused my mom to make ignorant decisions that lead to losing us. My mom actually made better choices and got her life together just to get her children back. As of right now, my mom has had us for a total of 8 years. She got us back when I was about 7 years old. My childhood wasn’t the best, but my mom is putting effort into giving all of us a life we should’ve had from the beginning. I don’t blame my mom for the choices she made because no one is flawless. I mean yeah I’m upset for her choosing to do pessimistic things instead of being here for us because my dad wasn’t in the right state of mind to, but everyone goes through a rough time at least once in their life. I’m so thankful for her switching her whole life around to show us what’s the right thing to do, and what isn’t some of the best decisions to make. The only reason why I believe the things my mom says is because she also didn’t have the best childhood either. I can tell that my mom tries really hard just to satisfy us because I know she doesn’t want us to have the type of life she had when she was younger. My grandma basically didn’t even want my mom when she was younger so my mom went to my aunt and she raised her. I seen my aunt as my grandmother because she did an affirmative thing to raise someone that wasn’t even hers. But, in the year of 2013 “ Mama Jessie” was no longer with us. One of the best women alive was chosen to go somewhere she really deserved to be, all the good she had done for everyone finally returned back to her.
When she passed away I know it was a really hard time my mother had to go through. We lived in Iowa at the time and my mom wasn’t able to buy an airplane ticket to fly back out to California, so my mom also had to miss out on the funeral. Back to my mom, I don’t think I’d be able to see my mom as a negative collision. Although us as a family went through some bad times, it’s all better now because my mom made herself so much stronger somehow, not only for herself but for her children too. I’ve noticed that my mom is very dedicated on giving us a life she also should’ve had herself. She’s been working hard to earn the title of an assistant manager and finally got it! I’m so happy she finally got it because she’s worked really hard for it, but at the same time I was sad she got it because that meant she had to leave us for 2 whole weeks, and she left the day before my birthday, so she wasn’t out here to celebrate with me. She’s still not out here, she don’t come back until February 7th so that makes me very excited because knowing that she’s finally coming back makes me very happy to see her. In my opinion I think 2 weeks is a long time. Over these past few years my mom has taught me some things her mom chose not to teach her. Some of the things she has taught me and or is currently teaching me have some negative and some positive effects with it. I know for a fact I’m not the best person in the world but my mom taught me that if you’re there for someone when they really need it, some good will come back to you. I just look at my mom at the most randomest times and I thank the lord to have her in my life because if I didn’t I wouldn’t know what to do with myself. So with all this being said I just wanna thank my mom and say, “I love you, and thank you for everything.”  Feeling the leaves beneath her crunch, the sounds almost like the bones in her body her persistence being the only reason for her to live and the hands guiding her to safety. The emotions escaping her as she struggles to be free and maybe join the ones she lost not so long ago. The woman who caressed her to life is the only reason for her to go on. Her leaving like an arrow through her heart, ignoring the melancholy feeling she knows she must go on. The hands of her mother are long gone but the warmth will never fade. Words are a lost to her as she listens to the leaves under her feet. The moments she once had are long gone but still fresh to her much like these woods her past is a mystery.
Going Merry Tears upon tears here my kingdom go an abyss and anxiousness hurts me. Death upon my door ready to take her the innocence and pain awaits her not knowing mercy. WHY I HATE AFRICA I sit right near her watching them slaughter my neighbors and feeling the hands of my mother hide us away from the evil in this world. I hear the men and woman in my village cry I was only two years old when I saw the a dead bodies the after effects are still with me. I wake up seeing shadows of people. I am quite sure I can still hear their voices, but the voice of my mom always soothes me it's my only grip to reality. and I don't tell her about how I saw them and I still remember their faces like there waiting for me to follow them. My mother was thirteen when she was married it was against her and my grandfathers will you see my grandpa and grandma were separated so my grandmother didn't like my mother specifically her she married her off to my father for 20,000 KS my grandfather was furious and never talked to my grandmother since then. He hates my father because of what he did I too on some level hate him. My mother loathes my father's existence but she loves us and my cousin who lives with us. When we were old enough my mother decided to divorce my father they never really liked each other in the first place. I've always loved my mother and we all knew she was doing it for us because they would always yell and bicker so much one time child protection almost took us away. I've seen my mom cry before it made me angry knowing that my father was the cause of her suffering and I was happy when he moved out but I know why my father acts that way after all he experienced war and loss more than all of us my mother means a lot to me so much that I would betray anyone for her. My mother is the only father and mother in my eyes.  Usually when people think of women they usually think of their mothers, grandmas, aunts, and maybe even some of their friends. Yes, I think of those kinds of women too but other than them I also like to think about my cousin. A person who if you really knew her she would insult you so much, but under those insults deep down are just buried compliments hidden by laughter and sometimes even more insults. There aren’t much women that I think made a much of an impact on my life other than my mom, aunt and of course my cousin. Since I think people writing about their moms and grandmas and such are a little overdone I think I would sort of step away from that and talk about something somewhat different.
Now that I think about it my cousin, she reminds me of a bit of a cliché anime trope. In this case she reminds me of a tsundere. She shows the people she knows her aggressive and assertive she can be, but under all of that she’s just a loving and caring person. From time to time we even have a quick roast session for about a few minutes on how much we hate each other. They go from Asian stereotypes to how we act then how we dress. I could have sworn we even had about an hour or so of a roast session in the car when we were on our way back from lake Tahoe. Yes she might be someone who resorts to insults and some mild violence, but there are times where she puts her insults aside and shows sympathy for people. The first time I saw that side of her was when I was in the eighth grade and I was struggling to do my assignments well not really I just ended up putting off all of my assignments and it was the end of the year. Either way she tried her best to get me to do my work even if she didn’t understand the assignment itself, she kept on trying to push me to do my work even if it meant bothering me during class or during lunch. Eventually I gave in and let her help me do my work. Even though she focused mainly on me and put me as a bit of a priority she set aside her most of her work in the process. After my problems had been fixed and I was able to move on my cousin looked back at all of her work and saw how piled up it was and was now in danger of not being able to pass to the next grade. So in turn I repaid her in what she did to me and helped her do some of her work. There were even a few times where she would pretend as if she had it and tried to shoulder all the work. In the end, she stopped trying to get me to stop helping her and just let me help her with everything. I’m glad what I’m writing is just an assignment, and that you’ll probably never see this, but what I really want to say is that I’m glad that we ended up not hating each other’s company, and were just able to fool around. Lastly, I know this may sound mushy and stuff to you, Rachel, but I love you, and I hope we end up staying as we usually have been, joking around and insulting each other. Either way, regardless of you saying you hate me or love me, I always will, so whether you like it or not you’re stuck with me for a long...long time.  Dear you,
When we were younger I would always look up to you. You were my favorite person, aside from mom and dad. I admire you because to me, you were a superstar and I wanted to be just like you which is why I would constantly follow you around and copy everything you did. I didn’t purposefully do it to annoy you, but I guess as the oldest one, you didn’t like the idea of a younger sister. As we grew older, things for us only became worse. Argument after argument. It was always a constant battle between who was mom and dad’s favorite. But our relationship changed. We transitioned from worst enemies into sisters. Honestly that was really great because not only did I have an awesome older sister, but I had a friend who cared and looked out for me. Thank you for always being there when I needed a shoulder to cry on. Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for being my sister. It’s different now. Ever since you moved to New York we have grown apart. We don’t talk very often like we used to. I miss the times where would share secrets in confidence. I miss the times where we had long conversation about the dumbest things. I miss hanging out with you. I miss my best friend. I just hope that in the future we don’t become very distant like we have today.  Friendship is one of the most influential relationships you can have with a person, because, it’s different from the blood relation you have with your family. There are certain things you can share with your friends, that you wouldn’t share with your family. Friendships can affect you in many positive and negative ways. For example, friends can give you hope, make you smile and they can bring joy into your life. Some of the downsides to friendships, like rumors or sometimes, bad friendships can lead to bad situations and making you do things you don’t want to do.
One of my friends Is someone I have known for 5 years. She is a really good friend and she has affected me in a healthy way. We share the same interests, we have almost the same goals in life and we have similar personalities. One of the biggest similarities we share is where we are both from. We come from Eritrea and are even from the same tribe called Tigrinya. Star has affected my life in a positive way because she helps me to be a better person. She gives me advice and always looks out for me. She encourages me and I encourage her. Sometimes we act more like sisters than just friends because of how close we are. She is one of the people in my life who I know will always be there for me. One of the things that makes our friendship even more special is the fact that we never argue. We’re always on the same page about everything and we have the same views on a lot of things. I trust her and I know that we will be close friends forever. Another woman that has affected my life is Alicia. We went to the middle school together and although we never really hung out as much, we figured out we have a lot more in common than we thought, such as our music interest, and activities like skateboarding. We often talk a lot about how much everyone changes, and how fast time goes by. Even though we knew each other from a distance, we didn’t think we would connect like how we do now. She has affected me in a healthy way because when I’m going through a hard time she would make me laugh and I would do the same for her. She gives the best hugs that really comfort me and we hope to still be friends after high school, so we can go on road trips with our other friends. I taught her that it was okay to cry sometimes and she taught me that friendships aren’t about how long you’ve known them, it’s if they will be there until the end.  The hands of my abuelita have been there since my birth.
She was one of the first to embrace me. They are the hands I always see. Her hands have done more for me then I have for myself. They raised me to today. They helped me find my way. They are the ones that cradled me to sleep late at night when no one else would hear my cry. The ones with a towel that kept me dry. The hands that never stopped working to get by. Her hands are the ones you never see in a picture, but are everywhere. They protected me when I was most vulnerable. They lifted my spirits when I was miserable. The hands that prepared me cups of hot cocoa every morning. The chance to hold them is rewarding. Hands that feed me until my stomach burst. Ones that supply a never ending amount of food. That brought a warm plate to change my mood. Her hands made Mexican delicious dishes. The ones that made the best beans. They prepared me coffee in secret. They hugged me even though I use to behave like a mischievous demon. When I was hungry she would swiftly fill me up. Those hands prepared my favorite soup to lift me up. They made sure my stomach was never empty. Her hands are the ones that brushed my long hair. The hands that were gentle and massaged my head until I had no cares. The person that took out all the knots in my head. The hands that even in the coldest nights put me to bed. The hands that enveloped me with blankets and held me through the darkest hours. When I was little she shielded me from under the bed monsters. Her hands held mine through my nightmares. They cleaned my hot tears from haunting dreams. They tucked me in and sheltered me from the cold howling winds outside. Her hands acted as my guide. She was my babysitter and my protector. My grandmother’s hands caressed my face when I worried. They massaged my forehead when I needed to de-stress. They helped me when my mind was a mess. They’re were there when I felt I was going to explode. She took off the painful load. When I felt under the weather she lifted my head and made me feel better. They moved to demonstrate when she told me her stories. She’d tell me about El Chupacabra, La Llorona, and her own life journeys. Her hands waved around and held you close enchanting you with her motions and words. She used her fingers to bring her tales to life. There they were for me day and night. Her hands get me dressed in the bright morn. Rain or shine she helped get in my uniform. She sets me up for my school day. Her hands fed, dressed, bathed, brushed, and put me to sleep. They cleaned my tears and brought a smile to my face. They helped me through all my situations and emotions everyday. They were there always and for everything. They provided me love. No matter what happiness they brought. In my heart they will forever have a spot. No matter when they are there. She is always in my prayers. They brought nothing but love, joy, and care throughout the years. To not have her will give me continuous tears. Time goes on and I see her precious hands age. I see those hands grow weak, but her soul grows stronger. The day those hands leave my sun will shine no longer. They are my caregivers and defend me from harm. I wish to never leave her arms. We try to treasure every moment. Without her my heart will be broken. No one could ever replace her. We know she’s getting older, but do not know how much time she has. The more time goes by the less time we have together. The more time goes by the more memories I will have and hold forever.  Dear Mom,
How do you know what I've been through if you were never here. How do you know any of my problems if you were never near. You left a scar in my heart, I began to fall apart, I should've known I wasn’t going to have a mom at the start. I remember back when I was in first grade you tried coming back into my life, but I refused to meet you and every time I tried thinking of you it hurt like I was getting stabbed by a knife. I know that you really love me because i’m your son, but I thought you were trying to meet me just for the fun. I used to wait for you to come even though it made me look dumb Mom why did you have to leave me when you were the one I needed the most. All this time you were gone I started thinking that you were a ghost. I didn’t have a mom who would teach me from right or wrong. I only had a mom who was gone. You could have been my best friend till the end. Most families are a mixture of fruits, but we couldn’t even blend. What were you thinking when you left me? Was it me or was it you? You were never here to tell me, so who would’ve known. Do you even have a mom who loves you? Do you even have a mom who cares? That's what people ask me. But all I say was she was never there. When I was in 6th grade you went to court so you can see me. I didn’t want to meet you cause all I know about you is you were the women who planned to leave me. You never took care of me. I was all alone in this empty home. Trying to either find a mom or a similar clone. But guess what now i’m all grown. Now can you please just leave me alone. Sincerely, S.S Hey, Mom
Did you expect everything I’ve done to happen? Are you disappointed at the way I've become? Do you ever wonder the effect you have on me? Did it ever cross your mind that our relationship is… well complicated? I’m sure you think about it from time to time. I know I do. I know that we fight a lot, and things don't seem to go right. And there are times we give each other the silent treatment and don’t talk or apologize. There are times where maybe even the neighbors can hear us yelling at each other. You say I always fight against you, and it's probably true, but so do you. Do we always have to fight? It's crazy you know? Arguments about how I dress, how I don’t want to do things, the way I act. Why do we fight about the way I am, when you told me to never be sorry for who I am. And trying to set you straight is such a pain, I'd rather not come home to a stressed out mom who needs to let off some stream. Why place the blame on me? Isn't that what your program is for? I’ve learned from you that sometimes you gotta keep your mouth shut. Sometimes being yourself only causes problems. But mostly feelings are discussed only at home, No one needs to see what's behind closed doors. But maybe we need to express our feelings somewhere else, Because I'm tired of the bad vibe there is in the bedroom. What the hardest of all is our beliefs, our different views of how my life is going to turn out. I'd rather not work in the hospital like you want, I don't plan to wear dresses and heels. Giving you some grandchildren is not my job, and marriage is a commitment I don't think I can stick to. God is your one and only savior, and apparently, I should believe in him like you do. I'm not saying I deny god's existence, I know he's there, But maybe I have trouble with my faith cause of the things I feel. Maybe it's hard to believe in a magic man in the sky because it just doesn't make sense, And it's annoying to have you question my faith after watching movies about fake gods and angels. It's time to marry man you say. I don't know about that, is this your ideal of life? Just to find a man? I don't want to spend my days waiting at home so I can give my husband a home cooked meal. To have his child, I'd rather not, Motherhood is hard and I'm not prepared. You didn't know how to be a mom and looked how I turned out. I see your view and already I know, I'll stray far from your expectations. I'm not trying to be a rebellious child, I just have a different view. But I still thank you, your idea of life influenced to be different, Maybe you might not be pleased, but I will. The way you influence me has shaped me, I know what I'm going to do in life. I know what I believe in, I know what I'm going to fight for. And I know I'm going to break every bad stereotype you have of me because I will be different. You've given me the courage to be myself even if no one, even you, like it. Your expectations of me, they bring a burden, as much as I want to make you proud, I won't be the common people pleaser. I still thank you for them because I know what to stand up for. You've taught me to do what I want. To be what I want to be, that no one can tell me how to live my life. I know how to get through the burdens life brings, for you've told me, you've prepared me. And when the time comes, hopefully with your lectures, I'll be ready. I also appreciate that when you're not telling me how you'd like my life to be, You tell me to be better, to never stop at just average. To always push myself and break limits. How you tell me to appreciate the beauty of life and focus on the blessings it brings. How to never give up and always get back up when I fall, to find myself, to find out who I am and just be that person, If you're happy with yourself who care what others think. I love the inspirations you give me to be who I am today, I take them to heart and really try to put them in my life. So even though our relationship is filled with arguments, I think your amazing cause you're my mom. Just cause we don't get along is no reason for us to push each other out. I'm always here no matter what, when I grow up to be what I am I want you to know it was because of you. I promise you I'm going to be a success with a happy life I'm not going to disappoint you so badly. I'm going to make you proud and show you that I am strong, determined, and a intelligent person, With a kind heart and a caring soul within me, in the end you’ve raised me well, Besides, behind your upsetting yells is you telling me to soar and live life You're going to be a huge part in my future, because you'll remind me to do what I want. You have trained me to be strong willed, independent and always to always do good will. I know that I'll be different from you, in the end, that's a good thing. I know you don't want me to just follow your example, you want me to do better. Maybe along the years our relationship will be better, but for the meantime remember I love you, and this time I promise I won’t let you down.  I despise you because of the way you make me feel. When I first met you I didn’t know who you were and didn’t feel comfortable sitting in a house or talking to you. You were nine months pregnant the first time I met you, I thought you were a little heavy, not pregnant. That night you made dinner it was a delicious homemade dinner. Throughout the course of dinner, you didn’t say a word to me and my brother. Either way he didn’t care that you spoke to him or not, but I did. You were the last one. You were the last step mother that I was going to have. Out of the three step-mothers that I already had, you were the fourth. I thought you were going to be kind unlike the others who didn’t like us.
At the end of dinner, you and father went up to your room. I was called upstairs to come get my blankets. Throughout the night I felt scared, alone with nothing in my heart but fear for how the unborn baby’s life would be. The next day father and brother were sent of to work on the design of my dad’s new house. When I woke up I saw you there sitting down, talking on the phone, several minutes later you went to clean up the kitchen. I asked you a question but heard no response. I’ve even asked it again, and you forcefully yelled at me and told me not to bother you. The harsh words you said broke me deep down inside. I felt lonely, and confused, I didn’t know why you had said those words to me. I wanted to know why you said those words to me, but I was to afraid to ask you why. The next few hours, were quiet and calm. When father and brother returned, you went to the kitchen to make dinner. I quietly tried to whisper to father about what you said to me, I succeeded at first, then he did not believe me. All night, I heard you guys talking and wondered what it was about. I quietly creeped up the stairs and heard that you guys were talking about me. Father had asked how the day had gone between us, and you completely lied to him. She reversed the entire story, you said “Your daughter yelled at me and made me feel odd and confused.” I was so shocked what you had just said, that I couldn’t even listen to your bull anymore. I was so angry, I was about to come down the stairs and speak what’s on my mind. The next morning, I was still angry at what had happened last night. Father and brother were about to leave, suddenly I asked if I could go. But, you said no, you’re going to help me with chores, I felt confused. This is why I was afraid for the baby's life, I was also afraid that my dad would leave her lonely as a single mother of a newborn. You ordered me to go to the car because we were going to the doctors. I was really shocked that you wanted me to come with you, but I should have known you were lying the entire time. You had only brought me because father said so. I felt like you only put up with me because of my father. It was so obvious that you didn't like me, I really didn’t a give a toilet. A few weeks later, you went into labor. Once you had the baby, you were nice. I don't know what changed in your wicked little mind, you had changed. You didn't yell at me you weren't forceful. But you and father yelled a lot about the baby. He would yell at you about random things about the baby. You would hate when he yelled at you, and I would hate when you yelled at me. I just didn't like how you made me feel, you're so confusing, I didn't want to see your face. Whenever he yelled at you, you started to curse and yell at me. I knew that you were gonna be just like the other ones. In your mind you probably think you're just mad about having a baby and the stress of taking care of one. I wanted to help you with the baby because I am very experienced with children and I know how babies are but you wouldn't let me in, in fact you only let me hold the baby 3 times in 2 months, and one of those times was our goodbye at the airport. You acted like I was a servant, you pushed me around and made me do things that a servant would do.I felt bad because I kept thinking that it was all my fault, that your anger and fear came to me I just wanted to let you know that I forgive you even though you don't give a crap. But either way, I hope we can come to amends.  She carried me in her womb for nine months and even after I never detached. My mother never stopped loving me, it’s surprising how unconditional her love is. I still remember the song she would sing to me when I would refuse to wake up. I don’t think she knows how much I enjoyed listening to her sing in the morning, I would only fake to be asleep so she could continue. My mother cared for my siblings and I all on her own. Some nights I could hear her cries, not that they were ever silent to me. As a child I knew there was nothing I could do to comfort her, her pain was beyond my understanding. All the hard things that she has to go through now will be insignificant and forgotten, that I can promise. She put everything behind her so we would never have to experience this harsh life.
My mother teaches me valuable lessons that can’t be learned from school, she entwines her knowledge so she can give it all to me. Her presence is prominent; I rarely imagine what it’s like without her. I have known her for fourteen years yet there is still so much I don’t know about her. Her past is never one of our many discussions but my curiosity only exceeds. She’s helped me with so much but I don’t think I can say the same. She never forgets to show her love through everything that she does. She pushes me through all of my problems just like how she used to push me on the swings. I was afraid of not amounting to her expectations but she tell’s me that she couldn’t be more proud. She works all day and hides the bags under her eyes but I know that she is tired. All that I can tell her is to have patience. I want to give my mother everything that she has wanted to give me. I know that she wanted to give my grandmother the world and I want to do the same. I look back only to see that I would be frustrated for silly things, things that weren’t even problems. It’s true, she did know what was best and I was just ignorant. I haven’t changed only my excuses have. Regardless of our little disagreements she is the only person I can rely on. She tells me how I brought good things into her life and I was a blessing to her. My mother taught me to love but she also taught me when to stop loving. I'm grateful for that. I used to believe she loved my brother more than she loved me. He’s smart and he never got into trouble but she never compared us the way other parents do to their children. We weren’t raised like others. She told us to appreciate the things that we had and to give when we had more than what we needed. She opened my eyes to see the real world so it doesn’t affect me later on. The skills she has given to me has exceeded cooking and little things. Just by watching how she handles situations.  You visit sometimes,
What is a mom? Is it a temporary visit here and there? Or is it someone who is there when I need advice? You visit sometimes, But I guess I will never really get to know the whole you. We talk at times but you never tell me about you. You visit sometimes, But you never tell me you love me, You never tell me your side of the story, about why you left. You visit sometimes, But that visit isn’t long enough, You don’t give me enough time to get comfortable with you. You visit sometimes, And right when I’m about to open up to you about my feelings, You leave. You visit sometimes, And when you leave I feel like you won’t ever come back. I’m afraid to lose you even though I don’t completely know you. You visit sometimes, But next time you come, I hope you stay forever, I hope to get to know you before it’s too late.  Dear Mom,
I haven't heard about or from you in a couple of months. You have probably been busy with all the kids and stuff. By the way, how are all my sisters? Well the main reason that I am writing to you is because we have been doing this project in class that has been making me think a lot about our relationship and about the problems we have. I have also been thinking about all the good times we have when you were coming around. This project is having me spell out my feelings, so here I go. The problem that I have with you is that you are in and out of my life. When you have a boyfriend, you put him in front of all of your kids. I'm already eighteen so it's not so much about me anymore. It's more about my sisters. They're getting to that age that they need you the most and instead, you're out "hoeing" around. That's what makes me the most mad. But, either way, you are still my mom and I love you to death. I just hope you wake up and are able to show my sisters the attention they need. I.M  Dear Mother,
This is something you've probably never known about me; it's not exactly something I'm comfortable talking about. But nonetheless, it needs to be said... For as long as I can remember, I have carried the immense weight of performance. It sounds silly, like something you'd go watch in a theater, but I can't think of a better way to describe it. And here is where it begins. My character was born sometime in 1999, where I was assigned the role of middle child. Not the best position, middle children have a tendency to be easily forgotten and sometimes under appreciated, but nonetheless, I was excited to have a role in the play about your children. I did everything my role required of me, performing to the best of my abilities in every task I was assigned. But my performance never seemed to impress the audience nearly as much as the other characters' did. It didn't matter whether I was more studious, or whether I played three different sports, nothing I did really seemed to captivate your attention. I did not realize going into this that the character I was designated to...was the outcast. Where my oldest sister was assigned to play the role of the softball pitcher, I was assigned to be the soccer, track, and cross country runner. I thought that the combination of three different sports would impress you, but you always preferred to watch my sister's performances over mine because she was following in your footsteps. I can't even begin to tell you how many nights the immense weight of this burden kept me up, wishing I could have been assigned a different character, one that you could relate to better and that wasn't so stubborn in her ways and didn't constantly have an opinion that challenged yours. But I think what I really wanted was to stop acting. I want to be real with you, not be an assigned role, and you, the audience. Just a mother and her daughter. It hurt whenever I noticed your presence was absent from the stadium seats because all I've ever wanted to do is impress you. It was irritating when we argued, having differing opinions, because I wanted to show you that I was maturing and developing a mind of my own. It was irksome when you tried to change me because I wanted to show you that I was independent and could figure things out for myself. Now, I recognize that some of my actions were done to smite you, and I'm sorry for that. But, it was only because I was in pain from all the years I felt ignored. I want to make amends, and I hope you can learn to appreciate my performance. Sincerely, Your Daughter  Dear Memu,
Everywhere I go, I carry my library card. It weighs only around 5 grams. It measures 8.5 cm and it's only about a millimeter thick. It's made of smooth white discolored plastic and is covered in tape and cracks because it's 11 years old. My library card is tucked away in my wallet, in its little pouch, and I haul it around throughout my day at school or when I go to the movies or whenever I get the chance to go to the library. I remember the day I got my library card. You were right there with me. We walked into the Lemon Grove Library, much like we did almost everyday. You marched right up to the counter and told the librarian that I was going to get my library card today. The librarian peered down at me over her librarian's glasses, as though she almost couldn't see me because I was so meager. She said that I had to be able to write my name in order to get my library card. You knew that. We had been practicing for weeks. You urged me along with your quiet patience, although it must have been frustrating to teach someone one of the most simple things-writing their own name. So, you assured the librarian that I could write my name, and the librarian lectured me that the books I checked out on my library card would be my responsibility. She was skeptical of the responsibility of a four-year old, but you weren't. You knew I could handle responsibility even at a young age, and you still do today. At last, came the moment we had both been long awaiting, the librarian handed me the library card and pointed out where I should write my name, then gave me a pen. You always tell me that your heart stopped beating as I put the pen to paper and saw me write the first letter-so awkward that I crossed it out and carefully scrawled a new one, then the next letter, painstakingly the third letter, and so I carried on until my name-or at least some chicken scratch that resembled my name-was there on the card, right above the words I agreed to: "By using this card the holder agrees to all conditions under which it was issued." The librarian, who was least partially in awe of my ability to write, placed some tape down over my signature to secure my ownership, then passed the card to me. I promptly placed it in my Minnie Mouse purse then darted to the stacks to pick out my first book. To this day, I carry my library card with me not only because I may want to borrow some books from the library, but also because my library card is a symbol of how your gentle guidance and infinite love molded me into the person I am today. You are the one who instilled in me a love for literature and a love for learning. It is to you, my mother, my Memu, that I attribute my success as a student and as a person. With your support, I have gotten to where I am today, and with your support, I plan to go much further. Thank you Mom. With love, Proud Library Card Holder  My Mom is like the weather; always changing, uncontrollable.
Sometimes you love it, sometimes you hate it. Mainly storms, rarely rainbows. Sometimes warm and comfy, sometimes hot and sweaty. But at the end of the day, you learn to love the weather. Like, if it's hot you wish it were cold, or if it's cold, you wish it were hot. But at the end of the day, you have weather regardless, and you learn to love it. And that's how I feel about Mom.  There is something very empowering about my hands. I take pride in the many things they are capable of doing. I can cook, clean, and write. I can comb my hair and put my make-up on. I can braid, I can drive, and I can dance. I can hold a book. I can hold my 2-year-old child. I can pray. I can make hand gestures both good and bad. I can dial a number when necessary. I can talk over the phone. I can do push-ups and give myself a mani/pedi. You get the picture. Without my hands I am left with the inability to do anything. Trying to connect with the idea of ever losing them frightens me. Imagine that…not! Everything that I am able to do is because of my hands – Thank GOD! Gratitude at it’s best! With the many responsibilities that I have, it is very easy for me to give into my nature. My nature - giving up when life gets hard, having to write that check to pay my bills before putting food on the table for my family, and just being tired of having to move in a world that moves faster than I can even keep up with. I have a 2-year-old son that needs more attention than I am able to give. He’s all over the place! He actually drives my husband and me crazy but we love that little guy. His face lightens my load. I am also 7 months pregnant. For a 23-year-old you would think handling the duties of a wife, a 2-year-old son, and expecting a child would come easy. I thought so at first. My attitude was, “I am young and resilient to unexpected changes…I can do this.” My mother always taught me to never give up in life. She would say, “When things get hard, you get up and start all over again.” So that is exactly how I operate. At night I cry a lot though. It’s dark, and quiet, so quiet that I can actually hear my mind talking to me. I can’t take it even though I’ve convinced myself that I can do it. My mother would scold me if she knew my current situation.
I am pretty much doing everything on my own, yes on my own! So you’re probably thinking, “Can’t your husband help you?” My husband is physically and emotionally unavailable. He is also an addict. His drug choice was crystal meth and heroine. He’s been trying really hard to remain sober. It’s been 94 days. The journey with him has been more than challenging. He spends most of his days feeling sorry for himself. I feel like I am raising another child. I spend more time trying to build him up which takes everything out of me. I have this fear that he will use again but I can’t focus on that, I have to give what is left of me to my child, and the one that’s on it’s way. All I want in life is to be happy. As long as I am taking care of my children, I will be okay. The only thing that haunts me is if my husband will use again. I don’t really know what I should do. The only thing I can hang onto is my mother’s words, “When things get hard, you get up and start all over again.” I will continue to cook, clean, and write. I will comb my hair and put my make-up on. I will braid my hair, I will drive, and I will dance. I will read books. I will hold my children. I will put my two hands together and pray because my hands get the job done.  Our relationship is different then most people. It's like a roller coaster ride that has ups and downs. Sometimes I wish there were more ups instead of downs. I use to wish you weren't my mom and used to hate you and now I realize that isn't true anymore. Things might be crazy at times but you still are my mother regardless of what we had happened in the past or present.
Ever since I was born, you sacrificed a lot more than I can imagine. You gave me a roof over my head and food on my plate. Most people around the world don't even have that and I should be lucky. You were the one parent that showed up to all the hospital visits, courts, parent meetings, social worker meetings, and all the other meetings you had to go to. I should be at least thankful for that cause I gave you all these troubles, and I dragged you into it. Yet for some reason I'm not thankful. I know I caused you a lot of pain but you did me to. I don't understand how a mother can treat a child like that but you did it to me. You looked at me like I wasn't your daughter and that I was supposed to be your slave. You believed everyone except for me. You were my only hope when they all attacked me with words and you let them continue and just went in on it and blamed me too. In my hardest battles you gave up on me and made it worse by putting me down so bad that at one time I didn't have any reason to live. You made me turn against everyone and threw your problems at me and broke me down. What did hurt the most was when they took me away for a while and you didn't care. When things were becoming official and they were taking away your benefits from me that was when you wanted me back. For the money. To me, that hurts the most when a mother only wants her child for the benefits and not for love. Maybe that was what made me not able to love or show any emotion or kindness to anyone else, and hurt other people like I did. They called me the devil's daughter or a little demon, but they didn't know the reason why I went that way. I walked to hell and back with nobody's help and I might have the same personality but today I'm more stronger, more sensitive, and more nice. I don't do things to hurt people like you do anymore. I try to stay out of trouble and I accepted help. Everyone who knows me, from when I was little to now, knows that I made a 180 degree change and they're surprised because they didn't think that the "evil" girl could be much happier, nice and grown up. They see that I met you waaaaaaaay past half way and you didn't change as much as I wanted you to. But you taught me a lot; to not trust anyone and you taught me to learn when people lie straight to my face. I'm old now and I know that you have reasons you act the way you do. You went through the thing that happened in Cambodia, and you survived it. It's not all your fault now. Since then I see that we are more the same. I try a lot harder, and now I see that you do love me and you care now, but I see us more as sisters than as mother daughter. Maybe we are not so perfect, and I still don't have a REAL mother daughter experience, and I still go looking to other women for that and you still go to my cousin and see her as you daughter. But I learned that when I'm older and have kids, I'll give them everything I didn't have. You still took care of me, and showed me love in the littlest ways, even though I couldn't see it. No matter what, you still gave birth to me and stuck around. I still may not be thankful, but somewhere inside me I am thankful. 10th Grade English Student  My Hands, Let go by biological Hands at the age 6 months, leaving these tiny Hands bewildered, lost, and afraid and on one particular day, very embarrassed. Never understanding why. Always too afraid to ask, yet no judgment. Another pair of Hands reached out where the other hands let go to offer safety, comfort and love, yet by whose standard? Certainly not the State Department for Foster Children. Adopted never-the-less. Hidden agenda, maybe? Again too afraid to ask. A little judgment but maybe not fair?
Years pass, those tiny Hands become very vulnerable, confused, needy, displaced and rebellious. Along come those Hands lurking and ready to pounce. They come with betrayal, lies and deception written all over them. However, these now young adult Hands are only paying attention to how good the attention feels, “Wow this is different and feels good too! Come, I trust you”… to hold these Hands. These Hands give those hands love from deep within. False love, so it turns out. Well what did these hands know? Nothing to reference, yet not so innocent in all of this. Little did these Hands know what was in store for them. These Hands begin to slowly wake up but still so confused and lost. By now it’s too late because faster than the speed of lightening, come four beautiful tiny innocent Hands and then four more beautiful tiny innocent Hands. All these Hands! Help me! Now what? What have I done? What am I doing? Here’s what! Love those tiny Hands, feed those tiny Hands, clothe those tiny Hands, house those tiny Hands, and keep those tiny Hands clean and as innocent as possible! Protect those 8 beautiful tiny innocent hands! What? How? These two hands can’t even protect themselves! Provide, Provide, Provide for those Hands! What? With only these two Hands alone? How is it possible? With What? Will someone tell me! Somebody, anybody? These Hands are saying, “Please Help Me”! Guess not! No one listening! Oh wait, here come two strong Hands ready to embrace these vulnerable hands, lurking and sneaking and sniffing around. Gotcha, they say. Those hands go where they have NO BUSINESS GOING, leaving all 10 hands scarred almost beyond repair! Leaving these two Hands drenched in anguish, shame, blame and guilt. These Hands wiped away enough tears to fill an ocean. These Hands wanted to drown in that very ocean of tears! These Hands wanted to Die but these Hands fought hard not to break. These Hands said “Push, push through this. Fight hard!” These Hands bounced back, spoke to those who would listen without judgment. Maybe? Asked for forgiveness but for who’s Hands? What? For these hands, those hands, ALL FOUR Hands? These hands were left ANGRY and Betrayed but not surprised! These Hands still said, “Don’t give up. There is no time.” We can make it! We have to! Don’t panic! Sorry, already panic stricken. These Hands knew they needed to get busy and get busy fast. These Hands had no time for nonsense. These hands said to everyone, even to those 8 beautiful tiny hands, “get out of my way, don’t you see how busy these Hands are?” Many times these Hands silently (maybe not so silently) screamed to those 8 beautiful tiny innocent hands, “Leave me alone! Call to those Hands that are also responsible for this fucking mess.” These hands were Bitter, Frustrated and Tormented but they never stopped working. These hands scrubbed dirty toilets, changed soiled diapers of other women’s babies, signed recertification’s’ for welfare benefits, signed for financial aid checks, and signed papers for section 8 housing. Fingers flipping through pages and dialing phone numbers for resources, just to name few. These Hands cleaned offices, these hands babysat, long hours, long week-ends! These hands grocery shopped for others with disdain and jealousy because these hands could not afford to purchase the healthy and better foods for those 8 beautiful tiny innocent hands. These Hands got sick of hearing, Provide! Provide! Provide! These hands needed a rest!!! But they wouldn’t stop! These hands pounded on key boards in a frenzy to complete homework assignments to obtain a higher education. These Hands applied for one, two, three and four jobs at a time. These Hands got one, two, three, and four jobs and worked them ALL! All in the name of financial stability for all 10 HANDS! Reap, Reap, Reap said these two Hands to those 8 beautiful tiny innocent Hands. Are you listening? Do you get it? These Hands went back to school for more education while now flipping through pages of resources for those that were vulnerable due to domestic violence abuse, child abuse and mental illness. They needed These Hands! These Hands went from being Stubborn, Bitter, Frustrated, Tormented and Cocky to Confident, Assertive and Determined yet Very, Very tired! These Hands were too tried to even enjoy putting the key into the door of the very first home purchased. These Hands were Numb! These hands knew they could no longer do it alone. These hands were ready to concede. These Hands realized that they had chosen the wrong hands to reach out to. These hands realized that the Hands of God were the hands that should have been reached for all along. To believe is one thing but to act on that belief brings salvation. Those Hands were always there, lurking, waiting and hoping to be reached for. When These Hands finally reached out, these hands were sent a pair of strong, loving, compassionate, hard working and honest hands. Those hands made a commitment to these hands and promised to never let go! These hands finally feel safe, can love and be loved! I now have 10 + Hands to hold onto until it’s time to let go. My Hands, My story! My Truth! Do you want to hold These Hands? Look at your hands, I’m certain there is a story. I would love to listen to the story of your HANDS! |
AuthorOMH Writer's Workshop participants. ArchivesCategories |
RSS Feed
