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Why Do I Remember?

Satisfactory Essays

"For once, just this once, can you stop blaming everybody for your foolish mistakes, mum. They have helped you so much, and all you 're doing is complaining about what they have not done?" It was the middle of 8th grade when the argument with my mother started. I can not really give an exact date because to tell you the truth, I do not remember. What I do remember is that it was on a Sunday evening, and everyone was in their usual corners: the aunts upstairs, the uncles in their own room, my mother downstairs, and I in my aunt 's room. A Sunday evening at my house is, typically, well always, quiet. Besides, it doesn 't even have to be a Sunday for it to be dull. It has just always been. This particular Sunday, though, was different from any other Sunday at my house. I do not know what compelled me to go downstairs to my mother, but as I went to her I had a bad feeling that something was going to happen. I do not know how to explain it. My chest just started to pound out of nowhere, my palms were getting sweaty, and my hands were shaking. I do not know why I did not stop when I go to the entrance of her room. I turned the knob, and casually walked down the stairs. The sight in front of me was not shocking at all. I saw my mother running around her small space like a mad woman cleaning imaginary messes in her room. For some reason, that was quite comical to me. The thing about my mother when she used to clean her imaginary messes, she always added something extra to

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