My Memories - Original Writing

Seven years earlier, I migrated to Hawaii when I was twenty-three. I had flown away from my mother and my life in the Philippines. Like young adults and being rebellious, I wanted to live on my own away from my mother 's roof. I left the city life I grew up with in the Philippines in hope of a better life in another country.

The mountains towered over us threateningly. The only reason I joined the research group was to escape normal life. The same everyday routines were torture to me. The grass around me fluttered gently, creating this enchanting illusion of a grassy, green wave of greatness. The sky was filled with fluffy wild clouds, dancing around in unison.

The sun is high above me and I walk into the forest in front of me,

I couldn 't believe what had just happened. I kept running, breathing out of control. My feet were sore and my lungs were aching. Tree branches were scraping my arms as I ran past them. Urging myself to keep on going. It was too late to look back now. I was running for my freedom and nothing was going to stop me. Not the sharp twigs stabbing at my feet as I ran or the misty fog blocking my clear path ahead. Nothing. It was really going to happen. All I needed to do was make it through the trees and onto a road. I couldn 't give up no matter what.

Bugs buzzing, trees rustling, and feet stomping overwhelm me as I walk through the beautiful green forest of DuPont State Forest. As my feet leap uphill, everything around me reminds me of our Creator who made everything that nature has to offer. A light wind rushes through me, making goosebumps cover my arms.

I find myself dreaming of the perfect place at a forest. It is a bamboo-brown, leafy paradise that when you look up, trees are tall as skyscraper. As I walk under every sprawling tree, they remind me of watching guardians. The only sound is the springs clear water rushing down the rocks. The strong wind “swooshes” messing up my long brown hair as the dried leaves rest over my chaotic hair. I take a deep breath, and my lungs fill up with

Trees. So many trees surrounded me as I wake up inside a forest that has been engulfed by the dark and dim fog with nothing but the sound of an unkindness of ravens and the wind growling toward me. Like Dante, I walk aimlessly in search of salvation in terms of state of mind. Suddenly, whispers grew louder and closer until it became the only

Growing up, I was the kid who never wanted to go home. Instead I would spend all my time after school at my friend’s houses until it got dark and I had to be home for bed. My house was never one where you wanted to invite your friends over to. My house was one where you never knew if it was going to be a good night. Or one where you had to tone out the screaming match that my parents were having. Growing up in this type of house was rough. I am thankful that my parents were not physically abusive towards each other or towards me. Though the emotional abuse that we all suffered was just as damaging.

When you hear “home,” what do you think about? A perfect little cottage on the hillside, or a dream beach house with the waves crashing in the distance? The house you dream to own when you 're older. The little farm in the middle of nowhere, or the sturdy home in the Rocky Mountains surrounded with the perfectly green trees. Or do you think of your home, the little place you grew up, playing around with siblings, where you loved, laughed,and maybe had a fight now and then. The place that smells of fresh laundry and baked good during the holidays. Where you made the best memories of your childhood, with you imagination with friends, and family? For me, I think of the stone house with the long driveway, trees all way down the curvy road. The smell of evergreens, and freshly mowed lawns. A bit of fresh pulled dirt on the sidewalk from pulling the weeds in the flower bed.

Every night I’m haunted by my worst memory/memories. I’ve been haunted by them for a year and six months.

My earliest memories I could think of is when I was probably five years old. That was a year before I started Kindergarten. I was always bored because we didn 't have television. We had the radio where we listen to for news, sports, drama series, and even typhoons update. At age five I would wake up before six in the morning because my mother would get so angry if I ever stayed on bed passed six o’clock. I would fix our bed, brush my teeth, and sweep the entire yard. That was my routine every morning with or without school. I grew up in a farm in the Philippines where we grew our own rice, fruits and vegetables. We have lots of dogs, pigs, ducks, and chicken. We didn’t have all the luxuries like fridge, washing machine, cars, and specially tv. I was always jealous with my cousins who lives in the city. Instead of watching tv, I started to read tagalog books before I started Kindergarten. I was the only student that knew how to read and writes nicely.

I wake up to the sound of the front door closing ‘ just another day’ I tried to tell myself. As I shifted in my bed my eyes had begun to close shut again, stunned by the bright sunlight piercing through the curtains. Rubbing my eyes happened to be the natural thing to do when relieving them from the radiant sunlight. Lazily I looked to my left and the picture of my mother caught my attention, as it did everyday. Not only did I miss my mother but the picture had been a token of my innocence and a reminder of my ignorance; I guess that is why it motivates me to do what I do. Heaven forbid a few tears would escape my eyes I knew she wouldn’t want me to be like this. It was hard to believe it has been four years since her passing I just wish

It 's funny how fast things can disappear. They 're there one moment and then gone the next. That was life for me. Just as I got used to what my life had become, and was okay with it, it changed. In the time it took to open the front door of my apartment my current life disappeared. Sometimes I think it 's the best thing that ever happened to me, sometimes I think it 's the worst.

Now, lemme tell you about this one thing I experienced...three years ago. Still haunts my memory. I used to work as a mortician. A person whom works to dissect bodies to either prepare the bodies for an autopsy, or for a burial. Of course, I was only a helper, passing tools. To of which begins my story.

Adrika pulled her cardigan closer to her chest as she closed her wardrobe door. The last of clothes had arrived that morning. Her Grandmother had suggested that she should have her lunch before she started unpacking but Adrika wanted to get it out of the way. The idea of leaving stacks of boxes clogging up the entry way full of belongings that weren’t in their rightful place.