The Story Behind My Smiles

Our professor asked us to write a memoir for our subject Creative Writing and I am staying up late tonight to write one. Even as I typed away to finish this, I am still unsure whether to publish this or not. A memoir. A part of a story of my life. Would they judge me if I'm not what they think I am? Maybe I'm afraid to remember certain memories of my past but I can't change the past for it made me what I am today.

I came from what everyone calls a broken family. I faced a lot of challenges when I was just a little girl. I learned to be independent and face reality at a very young age. I grew envious of my classmates during PTA's and PTC's when their mothers come to school to meet and talk with the teachers. No one came for me. I never really remember much of my mother. Yet I love her. I love her for bearing and giving birth to me.

My mother died when I was a three-year-old girl. My sister took care of me. Our father supported us. I have many siblings and most of us were taken away when our mother died. My father was devastated but swore to bring us all back and be a family. He did it. Succeeded. I am happy. I had a stepmom but she is what I like to call secretly as my wicked evil stepmom. My siblings and I suffered a lot from her. We all kept our mouths shut so that our father wouldn't get mad. She used to twist our words and starve us each time our father is away on a business meeting. We kept our mouths shut. I got bruises? I kept my mouth shut.

My father is a disciplinarian and its a good thing for me. I like it but let's not dwell much on my father.

I've always wanted to experience having a mom to hug me and say I'm pretty and that she loves me. I need to hear it. I'm lonely. I know my mother loves me. I know she watches us from above. I want to know her and I had been given a chance to be nurtured by her for three years. I know she loves me.

When I was in elementary and even in high school, my classmates would ask me if my mother would come since they haven't met her yet. My friends would come to my rescue and say that she's in the arms of Papa God. Others would say how pitiful I was that I didn't have a mother. Am I pitiful? Or are they the ones whom I should pity? I see people that never appreciated their mothers. Shouting at their mothers. Slaving them to things that they should be doing. Can I borrow your mom? Even just for a day? I promise to return her. I do. I just want to be hugged and say I am proud that you're my mother but... I want to say this to my real mom.

My mom and I

Since I was little my relatives from my mother's side would say that if I want to see how my mom looked like, I just have to grab a mirror and look into it. I look like my mom. Even my father agrees. My Grandparents agrees. They all say I look like her. Do I care? Maybe or maybe not. It makes me sad to think that she sacrificed a lot for us. I love my mom. I smile to be strong. I feel numb each time they ask about my mother. I just tell them that she's already in heaven and she's guiding us from up above. I smile because i know she wants me to be happy.