She was cheerful, young, and brilliant. There were not so many words spoken by her that some people thought she was hard to befriend. Some years later, I found an old diary of hers which was full of artistic drawings; the combination of the colors looked alive, I was sure she used water colors. I was stunned for some minutes trying to decipher her writings; the hidden language she was trying to send. A little footnote was sometimes attached below her drawings;
“Live, and love”, “Saturday Night”
I grabbed a piece of paper, and tried to imitate the style of her drawings to no avail. She was only 23 when she started to draw, the kind of drawings which belonged to only a real artist, a true and genuine artist who appreciate arts from the heart. She was absolutely brilliant.
Piles of Polaroid photographs of different moments were kept nicely in a box. I stumbled onto some nice photos with the woman I was telling you about. Her hair was long, and black. I guess she had many secret admirers. I learned her fashion which was never such a bore to look at.She was fashionable.
Her smiles were often radiant, yet in some moments, her gloomy smiles were captured in a camera. I put aside all the black and white photos, and sighed in relief as I just followed a story of a young lady.
She was entering a new life, a life of a young mother, and a wife. It was early morning in May when she was in tears of happiness when a new born baby was sleeping in her arms. “She was so cute” she said while looking at her two-day old baby. The baby that she often says a very kind and smart baby as every good mother always tells to other people when she is asked about how her baby acts.
I remember hearing her passions about life. Her poetic side has influenced me in many ways. I know she has been dealing with pains in life, I know how life is sometimes or often hard for her. There have been countless tears of a mother, which I understand now that I am a mother myself. As I hold my toddler, talk to her, and see her in her beautiful eyes, my mind often goes to my mom. I was thinking of how difficult it must have been for my mother to raise 3 children now that I am a mother of a very active toddler.
I remember smelling her fragrance, a face powder that she put on her face after afternoon shower. People say that time will heal the pains, but it might not work that way for some people. Whatever pains my mom feels, I trully understand that she is a strong woman. Every life has its ups and downs. Life is just like a wheel: there is the time when we are facing a trully happiness, and there is the time when we need to sit and contemplate for life is not always going smoothly. My parents, my mom most especially has raised 3 children with all her will and power. Once again, she always tells us that we were all good kids when we were younger. I think it is a way of protecting her kid, showing off their kids, loving their kids in every moment every single moment.
Being a mother myself often brings my mind to my mother, and my late mom-in-law sometimes. A few questions like ‘How would she handle this and that situation at that time?’. My mom has been thinking too much of her kids sometimes. My mom has carried these thoughts of her children from the day they were born up to this moment we are settled. I think and I believe, every good mom will always think of her children even in her sleep.
My mother though not as strong as she was before, but she still holds some of those passions. Yes, that great woman is my mother.