I don’t know who she is. Maybe I never got to know the real her. Who are you? Who are you? Do I even know you? As I think it over and over, it get’s worse. Everything is so messed up that I cannot quite make out what is true and what is not. All those memories come back to me, some of them haunt me, some of them pull me closer to her. Who is she? I have no idea.

Street. As I walk beside her, I hear her judging the people passing by. She comments about their clothes, their style, everything that contradicts with her thoughts. I try to hush her, but it only gets worse. I can feel my face getting red, as I try to look down or look away, trying to avoid the looks of the others. In contrast, she does not even care. She keeps on walking as if nothing happened, but something did happen. I realized that she is trapped in another world, in her own bubble. Maybe she does not realize that things have changed. What if she does realize that, but she continues to live in the past? Will she ever change? The more I think about it, the worse things get.

Home. I hear her talking in the living room with my dad. She seems worried. Although most of the time she is worried, this time, it's different. It seems like she cannot quite make it out. She cannot solve out whatever is making her struggle. That’s when I see her other side. One that is constantly worried about us, one that wants a better life for my brother and me. She is struggling for us. I realize she really is trying and suddenly I tear up. Maybe this is the real her. Is it, though? I don’t know. It’s all too confusing.

The real one. I can’t quite make out which side is the real person. I have learned to live with both sides. The one that cares about the others and the one that judges people. Maybe both sides are part of her identity. Maybe her bad side is a fake face, a veil that covers her real self. It might be a wall she has to build up, a wall that shows her fierce side, but that is not the true her. Maybe she is only trying to cover up her real self because underneath you’ll find too many unhealed wounds. Or this is the real her. The real her is her fierce side. Maybe because of all the bumps in her life. She has learned to go through every door with her head up and she every time she comes out stronger. I know that she does not give up. Unlike me, she tries. She hides all her wounds, trying to seem strong. Either way, I love her. I love every side of her. I admire her strength, I find courage in her actions. She makes me want to try, she is the one who pushes me through. Although sometimes it seems like she does not care about me, she really does. She wants me to become fearless and fierce like her. I will. I will become like her. She inspires me. She lights me up even when I’m down. She is my heroine. She is my mother.