they are the same and they hate each other for it.
...
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Listen to me as one listens to the rain. —As One Listens to the Rain, Octavio Paz
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Name: Yoshizawa Mayumi Date: 2012/05/14
English Creative Writing Practice #1
Write about a time you were angry:
I think I have always been angry. Rage is the only thing I inherited from my mom. It might be hard to tell that I am so angry every waking moment of my life. My nails press into my palms until they leave indents. When you look at my life, how could I not be mad?
In the eyes of society, I am a bastard child. Before my achievements, that was my sole title. They call my mom a whore for sleeping with a married man, but did they ever consider that he was the one who started everything? I have his face, and I can tell that it makes her unhappy. My mom's name is read as "blessing," so why does it seem like she's been cursed instead? The question I always ask myself is, "Am I cursing her by existing?" Some days, I hate her so much I could die. Other days, I feel sorry that she has to live like this because of me. Then again, I'm also living like this—did we curse each other?
