When I was eight, I wanted to look at the corner, but she shut me down.
At ten, I asked my mum why I should not look at the corner. She gave me a response: 'You will see mysterious things and creepy things, so don't look.'
At fifteen, the corner looked so appealing that I felt a glance would be needed, but the silent words of my mother kept propelling me forward. I didn't look at it.
At twenty, I felt that my mum was superstitious and the corner was a vague idea created by her to keep me in the dark. So I took the bold step. I looked at the corner, and it was totally empty. I looked one more time until I saw a picture of my mum and her own mother in black and white, sitting without care.
I wept. I looked back and finally saw my mum standing and weeping. She said to me, 'Do you see why I have told you to avoid the corner?'
My mum made me focus on my dreams while she bore the pains and distractions. The corner was her past and her mistakes — not wanting me to feel it or bear it. She guided me with her voice while she was in pain, until I was old enough to see her sacrifices.
Mum, I love you.
Drop a comment if you love your mum.
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