Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-29791712-20160321044649

Mommy and I stand outside Grandpa’s house. I never really like visiting Grandpa. I find Grandpa to be the most hurtful person on the planet. In fact, I think I hate him. Mommy always tells me to never say that word, since it’s a bad word like stupid or crap, but Grandpa makes me really angry. It’s not like I want to hate him, but he makes me.

For one thing, Grandpa never lets us inside his house. I find it really silly Mommy and I make the long drive to visit Grandpa, just for him to never let us enter. It’s rude to never let your guess in, like Mommy tells me, yet he always does this. Sometimes I try knocking on Grandpa’s door to see if he will hear me, but Mommy always yells at me to quit it. She says I’m disturbing Grandpa. I don’t know what disturbing means, but when Mommy uses big words like that one, especially in her mean voice, it must mean something very bad.

I don’t like how Grandpa doesn’t live with Grandma either. I love my Grandma very much. She always gives me food to eat, like chicken fingers and chocolate, and she never screams at me like Mommy does sometimes. Grandma’s very strong for her age, which I think is like one-hundred and fifty! She’s able to pick me up, and swing me around till I feel dizzy. It’s funny how I really love Grandma, but I also really hate Grandpa.

I don’t know why Grandpa doesn’t live with Grandma anymore. I always see pictures of him around Grandma’s house, but I never even seen him in person! I sometimes think that the reason why Grandpa doesn’t live with Grandma is the same reason why Daddy doesn’t live with Mommy and me anymore. But I don’t think it’s this, because sometimes Daddy visits mommy and me. Also, whenever Mommy sees Daddy, she gets very sad. Whenever Grandma talks about Grandpa, she gets sad too, but in a less angry way.

Even though I’ve never seen Grandpa, I know some of the things he really likes. I know he likes flowers, and candles, and also these special chocolates made with mint and milk. The flowers and candles smell really nice, but the chocolates tastes alright. Mommy always brings these things whenever we visit Grandpa, and she lays them out in front of Grandpa’s house for him to take right after we leave; at least that’s what I think. Every time we visit Grandpa again, those treats disappear. It’s weird, really, since when does he come out? I hope we catch him sneaking out one day!

Grandma loves telling me things about Grandpa, and whenever she tells me these things, she always seems happy. This makes me happy. What she will do is, she will pick me up, lay me on her shoulders, pat my back and scratch it the way I really like it, and go on and on about Grandpa. Sometimes she’ll just do it whenever we’re both bored, or sometimes I’ll ask her outta curiosity. That’s a big word for me. I learned in in school by my teacher. It means to be very interested in something.

Grandma would tell me how much she used to watch Grandpa play soccer with his friends, and how afterwards he will take Grandma and their kids out for dinner. Grandpa and Grandma always used to go to church every Sunday. I really don’t like Sunday church that much. It’s so boring, and I always fall asleep. Whenever I do nap, Mommy hits my leg, so I try not to.

One thing that really bothers me about visiting Grandpa is the way Mommy gets sometimes. Usually when we go, if Mommy brought new gifts for Grandpa, she would lay them out like always. Afterwards, she would just stand still, and not say a single word. She would just stare at Grandpa’s house, and towards the end, whisper some words I can’t hear. Around this time, I just stand still not knowing what to do. But sometimes Mommy cries in these moments.

I don’t like seeing people cry. There’s this one kid in my class named Frank, and he always cries in school. I feel bad though, because I never see his parents pick him up. It’s always his older brother that does. But seeing Frank cry always reminds me of Mommy whenever she cries, because they cry the same way. First they start slow, and then outta nowhere they just can’t stop until their eyes turn red, and burgers start to drip off their noses. Sometimes Frank cries over his mommy and daddy, and it also reminds me how my Mommy cries over Grandpa. Whenever they shout their name, that’s when I get a bit scared. Not scared as in those creepy Goosebumps books I sometimes read, but scared as in I don’t know what to do.

This one time Mommy dropped down to the ground next to Grandpa’s house, and she couldn’t stop crying. That day, everyone inside Grandma’s house also seemed very sad. I later found out that my family also visited Grandpa that day. I guess they were sad because Grandpa didn’t let anyone inside, not even Grandma. I wonder if he ever let anyone inside his home.

I think I figured out two things about Grandpa’s house, and why nobody is allowed in. I sometimes think it has to do with where Grandpa lives. See, in Grandpa’s neighborhood, everybody lives in similar houses. Some of the other homes are bigger, some smaller, and some right in the middle. Sometimes when Mommy and I visit Grandpa, other people come inside the neighborhood to visit their loved ones as well. I always see different people stand outside different houses.

And the worst part of it all is, those other people who live inside those houses also never let in their guests! This really gets me angry; angry enough to say I don’t wanna visit Grandpa sometimes. I ask Mommy why Grandpa is so rude, and why are all the other people so rude as well, but she just shakes her head, and says that Grandpa isn’t rude. She says that Grandpa is just sleeping sometimes, and that it’s okay if he can’t come out. I stop talking about Grandpa there, because sometimes Mommy gets mad or sad if I go on.

Still, those people are very, very rude. Those other guest always leave gifts similar to the gifts Mommy leaves Grandpa, except the chocolates. It’s mean that they don’t come out, and take the gifts in person, and then thank the guest. Why can’t they just be nice? If they’re nice, maybe the guest will stop being sad. Maybe if Grandpa comes out one day, Mommy will stop crying. I hope Mommy stops crying one day.

I sometimes think Grandpa doesn’t like Mommy. Mommy seems to be the only one that Grandpa doesn’t let enter inside. I’m pretty sure Grandma has been inside Grandpa’s house, since she knows a million things about Grandpa! A million is a big number, by the way. Mommy has no clue about Grandpa other than the fact that he likes flowers, and candles, and those yucky chocolates. Maybe Mommy bothers Grandpa too much by visiting him almost every day, and that’s why he doesn’t let her inside. I don’t know. I’m just guessing.

It makes me sad to think that Grandpa doesn’t like Mommy. I really love Mommy, although she sometimes scares me in the way in which I don’t know what to do. I don’t like it when Mommy yells at me a lot, and I also don’t like it when she hits me. She makes me cry when she hits me, but at least she never hit me like daddy did one time. When Daddy hit me like that, I needed to go to the doctor. Sometimes Mommy likes to be alone in her room and cry, and she tells me to go away whenever she’s by herself. That’s why I usually spend time with Grandma. Outta everybody, I love Grandma the most.

But yeah, Mommy is still very nice. She always helps me with homework, just like Grandma does. But since Grandma only speaks Spanish, she can barely help me with spelling. Mommy also makes yummy food with Grandma. I remember this one time Mommy took me shopping with her, and she let me buy all the sweets and cereal I want. I chose Lucky Charms since they’re very tasty, and we bought a whole lotta pop tarts! I don’t see any reason why Grandpa should not like Mommy. Maybe he’s just a grumpy old man, like mi tio Juan.

I wonder what Grandpa’s house looks likes on the inside. I always imagine it to be like Grandma’s house. It always smells like seafood and all kinds of spices in Grandma’s house. If you go inside her room, you start to smell something weird and a bit stinky. Grandma’s clothes smell like this, and whenever she hugs me, I smell it in her skin. Still, I love Grandma’s house very much. She has an old TV where I always watch Spongebob, and I like helping her with chores. I love doing this because she always tells me stories about Grandpa, and at the end she gives me candy. And for some weird reason, her apples tastes better than the ones in my house. I think she adds some special spell that Mommy doesn’t know yet.

I think one day I’m going to visit Grandpa by myself, and see if he’ll let me inside without Mommy. I know he likes flowers, and candles, and those icky chocolates, so I’ll bring them as a nice gift. He has to let me inside since he can’t hate me. And if anything, I may ask Grandma to come with me since Grandpa has to love Grandma. Who wouldn’t love mi abuela? She’s the nicest, most awesome person on the planet!

Mommy starts sobbing again. I stand still, and try not to approach Mommy as she cries. She places her hand on Grandpa’s door. It’s filled with grass and some dirt. Mommy leaves her hand there, and this time her tears begin to wet the flowers and chocolates she brought for Grandpa.

I remember something. “Mom! The candle! You gave them to me, remember? I still have them.” I reach inside my sweater pocket, and take out the large tan candle. Some of the wax stick to my fingers and jacket, but I don’t mind. I like the way it feels. “Let’s put it up, and maybe Grandpa will let us in!”

I rush towards Mommy, and give her a small hug. Sometimes this calms her, but other times she gets annoyed and shoves me. Thankfully, she wraps her arms around my neck—it kinda hurts a bit, but I don’t say anything. She pulls me close, and kisses my cheek and forehead. Her wet eyes make my face all wet as well, and I swipe away Mommy’s tears from my nose.

“Thank you, I almost forgot,” Mommy says, and smiles. She looks very beautiful when she smiles. Mommy’s the prettiest woman in the world, but I think she got it from Grandma since she’s very pretty as well. I like how Mommy’s eyes are a caramel color, just like mine. I also like Mommy’s long, black hair. “Here, let’s light this up. Place it right next to the flowers, mijo.”

“Okay!” I give Mommy a smile, since she says I have a nice one, and neatly place the candle in between the flowers and the chocolates. The grass from the ground surrounds the candle, but it’s not going to bother it. Sometimes, though, worms crawl through, and they freak me out. I don’t like worms or bugs much. “You brought the lighter, right Mommy?”

“Of course I did, sweetheart,” Mommy says, pats my head, and kneels down beside me. Her eyes are still very red and wet from crying, and also some of the make-up on her face drips down her cheeks in a long, black line. But the smile on her face tells me she feels better, and this makes me very happy as well. I soon forget about Grandpa’s rudeness.

She fishes inside her own coat pocket, and takes out those metal lighters that sparks a fire once you open the cap. I love those lighters. They have this cool drawing in the front that makes me want to doodle cool things like that. Mommy flicks the cap open, and out comes the pretty blue and orange flame.

Mommy drops her hand near the top of the candle, and lights the little string poking out. “Yay! It smells nice, Mommy!”

“Yes it does,” she says, and picks herself up. “I think it’s time we start going, mijo. I need to cook, and I think your father may visit today real quick to drop things off.” Mommy stretches and yawns.

I don’t like it when Mommy and Daddy are in the same room sometimes. They always fight, so I have an idea. “Can you drop me off at Grandma’s house then? I promise I’ll do my homework there, please Mommy? It’s math, and Grandma loves doing math with me, please Mommy?” I really wanna be with Grandma.

Mommy takes her time to answer, but she finally does. “Okay, but please, hijo, do your work. I don’t want chu slacking, got it, nino?”

“Okay! Okay, thanks Mommy!” I start to scream and jump in excitement, but Mommy tells me to relax. She reaches for my shoulder, and she cuddles with me as we walk away from Grandpa’s house.

I give one more look at his home. The candle is still lit, and the flowers seem okay on the ground. The chocolates are just huddled against Grandpa’s house in their package. And as always, his door remains close for nobody to enter. This makes me really sad for one moment, but then I remember I’m going to see Grandma.

“Maybe next time, abuelo.” I turn back to the front, and smuggle my face closer to Mommy. Mommy feels warm and safe. I wish Mommy always acted like this.

I can’t wait to visit Grandma!

Grandma recently moved in with Grandpa. I stand outside their house now, all by myself, my mother too ill to make the painful trip. I thought my uncles, aunts, or cousins would’ve found it comforting for them to join me, but they refused my request. I surprised myself, really. I made it this far near their home without collapsing onto the ground, and turning away before I began feeling sick myself.

It sucks, really. I freaking hate it with all of my gut. Why did Grandma had to move in with Grandpa? She was just fine in her home, with her family that loved and cared for her. Why did she have to leave everything behind just to be with Grandpa? She moved out too soon…

I also don’t like how she left us in such short notice. One day she seems perfectly fine, her joyful spirit always uplifting our doleful lives. That was Grandma’s problem; she cared too much. She loved us too much, she babied us too much, and she never stopped delivering us kisses and hugs. Over the years, I can recall the number of times she wetted my cheeks by how much she kissed me.

The next day…The next day she doesn’t feel too good. I told myself she misses Grandpa so much that it made her get all pale and weak. Silly, I know, but in a way I think it’s true. She kept on repeating Grandpa’s name as she laid in her bed, heavy sweat seeping out of her skin. I remember how fragile she appeared during her last days living inside her home. Most of the years that I had known Grandma, she always contained a bit of weight on her arms, legs, and cheeks. She never looked fat, but just slightly chubby; in total, good shape for a person her age.

But those last few moments, she must’ve lost around fifty pounds. All of her veins popped out of her skin, Grandma consisted of just thin flesh and a pattern of blue and green lines. The black and dense bags under her eyes drooped down all the way close to her cheeks. I can precisely remember her struggling to breathe through her dry and chapped lips. Each breath she took seemed to cost her a fortune of her energy. Thank god she kept her long and tangled hair. Other than that, it seemed as if life drained away all Grandma’s vitality from her shriveled up soul.

I never saw her move out. I couldn’t bear the dreadful news that she left. I sometimes wish I accompanied my family that evening, but I knew if I went, something inside me would break. I don’t know what, but I knew I wouldn’t be the same coming outta there. Witnessing Grandma fall apart murdered me inside in ways that I can’t even comprehend. Every agonizing second of it caused me to feel dizzy and not myself. I lived with so much terror that day that I couldn’t sleep, eat, or do anything for that matter. Every moment my stomach turned, my heart raced faster, and the impulsive migraine on my head only worsen.

Grandma taught me to always be hopeful. She radiated hope and love right outta her wonderful and bright smile. I held on to so much hope that night with a tenacious grip. So much hope flourished inside my bones that I saw a happy future. Soon all of my worries washed away, my fear eased, the darkness of twilight waved good-bye, and out shed the first of many lights from dawn. Grandma’s favorite saying was, “it’s always darkest just before the dawn.” That night I embraced the upcoming sunrise.

But it never arrived. All the hope I stored up shattered away, and it drowned down the drain with my sorrows. Something vile and distasteful replaced that hope. My insides reeked of gloom and despair. When Grandma moved away, she took something of me with her. A part of myself left and chased after Grandma, only to find out that part of me can never return to my heart ever again.

I miss Grandma a lot. I think that’s why I always try to visit her whenever I can. Even if I head out by myself, I don’t care. Even when I beg for Grandma to open the door, which I know she never will, I pray one day she’ll let me inside, and I can finally see Grandpa face to face.

I just wish I could back in time, you know, and change some things from my past. Grandma and I, we were so close when I was a child. I could live to be a million years old, and yet those early childhood memories with Grandma will never fade away. I hold on to those vivid and precious moments with fear that they might slip away from my mind in an unknown and repressed wasteland. Every day when I wake up, I replay those content memories with Grandma as if I can somehow return to them if I think hard enough. I do this so much that I dream about Grandma. I dream about all the times I used to hang out with her, before everything changed.

Growing up from a child to a pre-teen, and then to a full blown adolescent, has to be one of the worst experience ever rendered to mankind. I’m not talking about the plethora of breakups, the acne littering your face, the insecurities, the need to feel popular and wanted, none of that pretentious stuff. I’m talking about all those times you ignore and push away your family, and choose momentary friends who end up meaning close to nothing after high school. I’m talking about all those endless fights with your family, and not having a single decent meal without my obnoxious mouth mustering up an argument. I’m talking about all those heartbreaks and trust issues I developed with Mommy and Grandma once I began using drugs, sneaking out of my house late at night, and ending up in more trouble than I bargain for. I’m talking about the majority of foolish and inconsiderate young adults who roam this world today. That was me.

The older I grew, the more I distance myself from Grandma. At first the signs were subtle. Friends from my middle-school soccer team always flooded inside my house or Grandma’s house, leaving me no time to do homework or to socialize with Grandma how I used to do. I used to recount all of my problems and events to Grandma every day after school. I began replacing Grandma with my friends.

She encouraged this at first, seeing how I made some decent friends and was exercising daily. Grandma always figured I had a bit of an awkward personality, so she found it pleasant that I found my social circle so early in my life. But as I said, things only grew worse. Before graduating middle school, I started smoking pot and drinking. I’m not here carrying a bible and preaching how marijuana is the devil’s plant, nuh-uh. All am I saying is that everything in life deserves moderation, but at that age I made some rather reckless decisions.

Fight after fight broke loose with both Mommy and Grandma. Mommy stayed bipolar and rambunctious, and my patience with her personality soon ended. We both blamed and resented Daddy for the catastrophe he caused us, yet we would slit each other’s throats if the opportunity came. Mommy made sure to never stop hitting me, even when I could easily scratch and hit back; which I did with some shame in my statement. When these outbursts rumbled in Mommy’s house, I always made the emotional trip to Grandma’s house, spilling my guts all over her. And of course, Grandma comforted me as if I was that little toddler years ago. Even when the fault was my own, Grandma accepted and embraced me with her outstanding love. She loved a sinner as much as she loved a saint. That’s something a woman like her can only empathize.

Grandma noticed my abusive problem, both with Mommy and the substances. She urged me to consult her with any difficulty bringing me down, but I never did. Even when I nodded my head, smiled, and said I would do so, I never crawled back to Grandma with my heart on my sleeve. I only did so when it benefited me, or I made some false resolution to alter my ways. I used Grandma to sometimes go against Mommy, and even when Grandma realized my true intentions, she reclined back to loving me like always.

I only hit Grandma once. A small shove, nothing much about it to a certain degree. But personally? The worst thing I ever done.

It happened around the time I attended high school. To be honest, all of the memories of what led to me striking Grandma faded away by the tremendous guilt I faced afterwards. I think my situation involved me breaking up with some skank, Mommy and me disputing over Daddy and my behavior in school, and eventually I ended up in Grandma’s home like always.

She welcomed me inside, offered something to drink or eat, and I denied, stating that I wish to be alone and in peace. Grandma confined, and said that whatever I desire, she would try to accomplish. As always, I overlooked Grandma’s genuine concern and gratitude towards me, and mistook it for her being annoying and up my ass, as I used to say to her and Mommy.

The itch to smoke weed ran through my blood like leeches sucking away at my self-control. I snuck inside Grandma’s bathroom, rolled a joint, opened a window, and lit the end of the stick with a single spark. I inhaled, and the buzz soon settled on my mind. Nothing much about it. I felt calmer, and in a state of false euphoria.

The moment Grandma barged inside the bathroom, her face written with dismay instead of rage, was what triggered something inside me. Some bottled-up anger inside me exploded, and I soon lost all trace of my senses. Something ugly and loathsome crawled through my skin. I remember how irritating it was to never see Grandma mad or ashamed. In retrospect, I don’t know why this bothered me so much. I really wish to beat the living hell outta my past-self sometimes.

“Abuela! I told you I wanted to be alone.” She struggled to mutter words in English. I didn’t feel like speaking broken Spanish. I just needed a quick smoke to relax my nerves, and Grandma failed to grant me that. Hate poisoned my blood and heart with its venom. I never felt so angry and irrational before.

Grandma shuffled towards me, a wrinkled and lugubrious frown on her lips, her eyes searching for the good in me. In me, when I did nothing but hurt those that love me back. Grandma never glanced at me with disappointment. She would never allow herself to give up on me, even when I hit rock bottom. Grandma yearned her life around that immortal hope.

She raised her hand, as if to pat my hair or to massage my face, and I returned the favor by throwing the joint on the floor, grinding it with my shoe, and pushing her frangible arm away. I guess I still had in store some rationale in me, since I stopped myself from launching Grandma out of my face. I knew I somehow held back some force.

Grandma stumbled backwards, and nearly tripped on her back. She held her stance, however. Of course Grandma did. She wouldn’t allow some disrespectful scum like me to bring her down.

The grim look on her face, however, caused me to run away from her house, and stay over a friend’s apartment for over three days. I violated a part of Grandma that could never be healed again. The pure sadness in her expression overshadowed my animosity. I had hurt Grandma. Physically, and in her trust. She never felt the necessity of guarding herself around me, and now I just gave her a reason to do so. Grandma opened up her heart and soul towards me every second she could, and I had tainted that innocence with my spiteful act. I hated myself so much. I betrayed the only woman in my life who never once damaged or rejected me.

I made a vow to quit my awful habits, and change my life around. Of course I didn’t, however, at least not then. That’s the hideous truth about people like me. We rot this earth with our curses, deny our imperfections with our egos, and in the long run, destroy the barrier of companionship that our loved ones struggled to pave.

When I returned home, Grandma was there. I expected the worst to come, and yet the moment her eyes fell upon my own, she sprinted her tenuous body towards me, and wrapped her flabby arms around my body until I felt I couldn’t breathe any longer. Small tears rained down on my shoulders. She repeated over and over how much she loves and misses me. She told me to never scare her like that ever again.

And Grandma apologized. She swallowed all pride and anger, and apologized to me. And there I was, debating about even tasting a bit of humbleness. What had to have happen to such a woman for Grandma to love the way she does? What wrecked her soul, or revived her motivation, that made Grandma live the life she did? A woman as passionate as her deserved a better life than the one god had granted her with.

Ever since that moment, I started debating on what led for Grandma to never stop nourishing the world with her hope.

I left my home right after I graduated high school, and I’m currently pursuing a degree in Psychology. Saying good-bye to everybody felt reliving, in a certain aspect. It offered me a chance to start over with a clean state. Saying my final good-bye to Grandma affected me a bit, but at that point, my mind was infatuated with finding myself. I dug my way outta that abyss I trapped myself in, and made a stand for myself once and for all. It was a slow process, but it took all the courage outta me to fix my mistakes. Some regrets, however, one must learn to bear and live with.

Like I said, the older I grew, the more I isolated myself from Grandma. The rare times I visited home, Grandma stuffed me with food and love as if I returned from a deserted island a light-year away. My behavior around my family improved, which is to say the least because I felt that hidden distrust around Mommy sometimes.

Grandma? Oh, she dragged me around her house, took me out, washed my clothes, bought me new stuff, and never paused to remind me I’m always welcome back home in case anything happens.

I never once denied Grandma like before, but what still irks me is that I did this outta guilt and nothing more. I didn’t do it in order to spend limited time with her. I didn’t do it outta love or anything like that. I did to get rid of that guilt that consumed my insides like acid burning away my organs.

“Llamame quando puedes, ok?” Grandma always reiterated right before I made the voyage back to my university. I never called her, not once. Sometimes I seriously forgot, but the other times that her reminder blared in my mind, I just wouldn’t. No defending my case. I just didn’t want to.

“I brought you your favorite things, Grandpa,” I say, and place the flowers and the candle and the chocolate in front of their home. I delve inside my pocket, and take out a 99 cent lighter I purchased before arriving here. It took me a while to light the flame, but eventually I kneel down, and spark the tiny string like always. The aroma of the candle swirls up my nose, and I feel at ease for one quick second.

“Don’t think I forgot about you, Grandma.” I rummage inside my sweater pocket, and take out the rock that was inside. It’s a white chunk of rock with deep holes embellishing its surface, sorta like the craters on the moon. One day Grandma and I went to the beach, and we both spent the day digging through the sand. We ended up finding a bunch of these types of rocks. When I asked her what they were, she intrigued my mind when she said they came from space. Of course now I know better, but Grandma knew to let my imagination run wild as a child. I think we collected around more than a dozen by the end of the day. The one I just placed in front of her home was the second to last one I still contain.

“Enjoy your gifts, okay guys? I know you’ll take good care of em, and they’ll just look so pretty inside your— Your home.”

I understand Mommy now. All she ever wanted was to enter inside Grandpa’s home one last time, and to be able to see and touch him again. And why wouldn’t they let Mommy in? Was it her personality? Is that why Grandma refuses for me to enter? Did I hurt her so much that she now discards my existence? Maybe she finally found some peace one she got rid of me. Why would a woman like her let me inside her home? I don’t deserve to enter.

All the sorrow Mommy faced right in front of this door now falls upon me. I inherited that feeling of exclusion. Mommy’s outrageous breakdowns now make sense. Mommy’s determination to visit Grandpa seems rational. I can’t stop thinking about Mommy. Every day she infiltrates my mind, and I can’t do anything but grieve. I consider Mommy’s emotions now, and why she acts the way she does.

I won’t live with regrets any longer. Grandma’s gone, and she’s never coming back. I’m still going to constantly visit her, though. One day she’ll open the door, I know it. She still loves me, and I know she still thinks of me. I know she watches over me, and Grandma does her best to lead me into the right direction. But she lets me tumble and make mistakes. She understands that’s how I learn, and that’s how life works. All Grandma desires now is for me to carry on that sanctified hope she bore most of her life.

To hold that weight, though, takes a lot outta a person. Some people can never withstand the suffering you face when you endure that hope. It leaves you dead inside if you let yourself collapse. But through every obstacle, that hope strengthens your willpower to come back a better man. Grandma just wants me to make a difference.

I don’t know if I can live up to her expectations. I’m just a man who still struggles to find himself. I still live with sin, deal with demons, and revolve my life around the negativities in this universe.

But I won’t fail, for her sake. Even if I make the slightest difference, that’s all it takes. And sometimes, it’s the little things that makes a huge impact.

I love Grandpa. I love Grandma. And I love Mommy so much. If I can forge a bond with Mommy, maybe that will be enough to make a difference. It takes one step at a time, and the first challenge is to understand the other person. And now I understand Mommy. I can love Mommy fully, and I will never stop loving Mommy.

I may never know the day I may visit Mommy along with Grandpa and Grandma. 