With that title I would like to proceed by wishing her (my mother) a happy 39th birthday. Almost two decades ago she fearfully cannon balled into motherhood. I want to take these few sentences to thank her for not nipping it in the bud. I would not even be able consider the theme of ‘Me’ had it not been for her courage to let me be born. Beyond the idea of destiny and fate there is in fact actual choice. You see, I believe the type of life I lead if my fate; something that is currently beyond my control. However; this fate would not have been available to me had my mom not chosen to let me be.
I Was…
From what I can remember, raised by my grandparents. I remember a lot of soccer, Spanish and screams smothered in the tone of my grandmother warning me to be afraid, very afraid. Mi Abuela is as overprotective as they come. She kept me near, fed and loved. This woman single handedly built a cocoon for me to seek shelter in, well my grandfather built it and she ordered him around, metaphorically speaking of course. You see this cocoon does not physically exist, but it’s there, located deep in the heart of an otherwise cold woman.
I Am…
Young and Hungry with shit to prove, in a nutshell.
wow. this post was... amazing. Your writing is beautiful.
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