<strong>Name:</strong> Eunice Wu
<strong>Age:</strong> 16
<strong>Grade:</strong> 9
<strong>School:</strong> Agape Christian School
<strong>Mom’s Name:</strong> Yufen Jiang
My Mother. I don’t know when it started, I don’t want to hear my mother’s nagging anymore; I don’t know when it started, I don’t want to obey my mother’s will anymore. I superficially imagine my mother as an old house, she will give me the shelter of childhood but can no longer provide new scenery. I naively imagined my mother as a simple and easy-to-understand book that can be read without any emotional effort. But, it turns out, I was wrong. By chance, my mother was going to go out for a few days. When I came back from studying abroad, no one came up to greet me with concern; when I accidentally broke a cup, no one told me what to do; when I studied late into the night, no one Someone came in with milk and knocked gently on the door to remind me that it was late; when I woke up in the morning, no one urged me to get up and eat quickly. These seemingly trivial things have become the details of my memory of my mother today. When the phone rang and I rushed over like flying, I realized that I hadn’t grown up yet. When I was anxious to see the whole world, I ignored the eyes that kept squinting behind me. When my mother occasionally left me for a few days, I suddenly realized: I can’t sail the long river of my mother. When did my first deciduous teeth grow? When did I just learn to crawl? When did I speak for the first time? These pasts that I dismissed are left in my mother’s heart, waiting for me to enlarge them. My mother regards me as a book written by her, and every word is written with painstaking effort; my mother regards me as a hand-made machine made by her, and she keeps drawings with everything written about me. My mom sees me as everything to her, so she pays undue attention to me, to my every moment. My mother loves me. She would walk outside on the road, fearing that I would be hit by a speeding car; when she was by the river, she would walk inside, fearing that I would not pay attention to the bottom of my feet and fall into the river. My mother has too many fears in this world, and she is afraid that I will suffer even the slightest bit of harm. On the road of life, you can’t blindly focus on other people, otherwise, you will lose yourself. But I know that I will never be able to get out of the concentric circle formed with my mother, and the center of that circle is my mother’s love for me. I love my mom because my mom loves me.