She scribbled something on a piece of paper. I know it is my taxi’s plate number.
I’m going to miss her.
My mother and my father were my favorite couple in the world. But since they separated ways, now they are my favorite people in the world. They are the pillars of my existence, those who held my hand when the world was starting to grow larger. They were there during my first steps, which eventually I hoped they would be too, during my last and my in-betweens. They taught me to trust people. That you could lend them ears, and they would lend theirs. That you could give your voice, and they would offer you theirs. That you could make them hold your heart, and they would let you take care of theirs.
Generosity ran in their blood like the Amazon river: full, deep and endless. They told me that I might never get back what I give. And that I should save love and gratitude, for these are treasures that come back the more that they are given away.
My mother and my father told me, “Make brevity your second skin.” People will hurt you, people will doubt you, and people will try to break your heart. He said that bravery is less of standing up for your beliefs, but more of standing up for who you believe in. She said bravery is not about winning battles, but accepting defeat and rising up to try again.
[second_picture]
My mother and my father are stubborn. It irritates me at times because they try to wring out what they think is my best, and I couldn’t give them that. But I misunderstood. They wanted what was best for me. They gave me their love and care, but I was curled into a tight ball, hands over my ears, trying to save myself from what I think gives me frustration and anxiety. I inflicted pain. I made them sad. But they never told me that they were disappointed. Instead, they showed me to love more, to care more. They believed in me; in who I am and what I am capable of, when I never had the strength to believe in myself.
They were there during my first steps. They were there while I was growing up, without me realizing that they, too, grow old. Each day is a countdown to their very own last steps. Sickness became their neighbor and hospital visits became routine. They would call to tell me about colds that wouldn’t go away or headaches that are not relieved by pain killers. I know they are just too proud to admit that they aren’t that strong as before, after all they would never want me to worry about them, but you would hear it from the sound of their voice. They aren’t getting any younger.
[third_picture]
My mother and my father are my favorite people in the world. They were there during my first steps. Now, it is my turn to be there for them. I would be the dependable, generous, and loving person they taught me to be.
She scribbled something on a piece of paper, I know it is my taxi’s plate number.
I’m going to miss her.
I pray to God that I will make them proud.
