My mother was a storyteller. Her mother was also a storyteller and she would pass her mother's stories on to us.
She was born in the Philippines and was 14 years old when the Japanese army invaded the Island - just 10 hours after bombing Pearl Harbor. My mother passed away last October and I wanted to honor her by putting her words on paper. They say that sometimes truth is stranger than fiction. Perhaps this is true of her stories. How much is truth and how much is fiction and how much was part of the world she invented to protect her from the harsh reality doesn't now matter. What matters is that stories connect us, reminds us that we need each other to validate our emotions and actions - good and bad. After all, isn't that why we read?
- Florida
- JoinedAugust 15, 2020
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