Memoir of the SCARS

A Memory

*10 years ago

I could vaguely remember her coming into my room, I smiled innocently at her. Beaming happily as I saw her thick brown hair falling down to her waist, her long legs clad with denim while her torso is bundled up with a green Hollister fitted t-shirt, her feet inside comfy rubber shoes and her arms enclosed by a white jacket. She is a beautiful woman, standing tall at 5'6 ft. with pale porcelain skin. You could get lost in her eyes, seemingly like a dark abyss pulling you in when you stare. Her Asian-Hispanic cat-like eyes seem to be full of secrets and experiences that could fill up a book. With a small face that you only see in anime's, and a tall Hispanic nose to compliment her exotic features. I was excited for a moment, I thought we were going out to the mall and buy some toys. But confusion entailed my features when I trailed my gaze down from my mom and behind her. There were black suitcases by my door. I know those suitcases aren't just for going to the mall because I saw our maids before pack daddy's things inside there whenever he goes to places for business meetings. I knew something was wrong. My suspicions were confirmed when I stared intently at my mom -probably looking like a lost puppy- and that's when I noticed wet tear streaks down her crimson cheeks. But other than that, some parts of her face were dry. As if she tried to erase the evidence that she was crying a while ago. But the redness of her puffy eyes and the torn gaze from her glassy dark orbs betrayed the front she was trying to portray. A naughty tear escaped the side of her eye, and that's when I really knew that we weren't buying toys today. Finally gathering my jumbled thoughts, I asked.

"Mom, why are you crying?"
I asked her. My voice small and filled with confusion from unanswered questions from my thoughts.

"No baby. Mommy's not crying. I just feel sick." Her voice shook a bit. I knew the truth. And she was trying to hold herself together.

"Okay mom. Is something wrong?" I voiced out. My question floating in the air, it was what you call the 'elephant in the room'. I watched her walk towards me from the door to the side of my bed and then taking my small hands into her palm. Enclosing it inside her ice cold fingers. I dropped my stare from her pained face to our hands. What caught my attention the most was that her hands were shaking.

Bitting her lip, she took a deep shaky breath. Like she was readying herself for something agonizing. She sat down at the edge of my bed. Strawberry and Jasmine perfume wafted in the air. --She smelled like home, her scent relaxing my haywire nerves for a bit. She looked so helpless, even with her gaze down she seem as if she lost all the hope in the world. She was hesitating, her eyes dancing with inner turmoil and.. love. Looking at her at that moment made you believe that there will be no rainbow behind the storm. That there never will be. Its more heartbreaking than watching a child's reaction when you tell them that Santa's not real. No child should see their mother like this. And yet I did, I felt my heart breaking with her. It was that picture in my life where I knew things would never be the same again.

"My little Nymph, there are some people in this world that are cruel. So cruel it makes you wonder if they have a heart. No matter how much you try to change them, no matter how much you try to help, they will never change. You only hope that time can help mend their hearts into something more beautiful. In life, people come and go. It's in you to choose who you allow to make a great impact in your life and who are the people whom you would never let go. But just my advice sweetie, when you feel as if your heart breaks when you look at them, when you know if you stay a bit longer that they'll break you, you have to love yourself. And its you that needs to go." She uttered these words as if it were the pieces of her heart and she was giving them to me. It pained her to say this. I know I'm young, but a child can see her mother's pain. This wasn't the explanation I was looking for, but it was enough to make me understand that my mom isn't happy. That she needs me to understand that she isn't happy. And I know that as I grow up, her words would be ringing in my head. That in time I would understand what she meant by this, --why she gave me the pieces of her heart.