ULTIMATE!
I just finished writing this essay for one of my college applications. Tell me what you think!!
It was inspired by my hard working mother.
As the second hand of the clock struck that same time every single day for the past seventeen years of my life, my mother was up at that very moment, doing what she had been doing since the day I was born. She had been feeding an army.
The pain was on its way again as she walks out of bed. More than twice a day, it always came about. The blood rushed through her veins, to her anemic legs, which caused her to become lightheaded and dizzy from time to time. Even though it was hard work, and even though she wondered whether following this certain road was right, she had a goal and she had to accomplish it. She is potent, she is selfless, and she is my mother. You could feel her strength before you took a look into her brown eyes. But if you ever do take a look into those eyes, do be ready, for your heart will bounce and jump with pride. Because right when you look into her very eyes, you see right through to her soul. Her pure, loving, clean, beautiful soul.
She moves through the kitchen with ten things on her mind at once, grasping onto hope and God as she travels through her day. Her mind and soul and heart never parted, they were always with one another.
An entire bucket full of fresh beans in one hand being washed over the sink as she rushes to the stove as she hastily fans the smoke away. Meanwhile the hot steam creeps inside her lungs, as preparation was closer to its intended destination. This was a daily scene. A daily adventure. A daily war.
How long has it been this way? My sibling never gave a second thought. Every single day that we had been alive. Who fed us? Who raised us? She did. This doesn't happen to every army. Not every army stands as strong. Many do fall apart. Many do break off and fade away, but her army- my brothers and sisters- was held together. Her soldiers were trained well. Her soldiers were taught to be vehement. As she was also taught to be vehement.
She was feeding an army and the army had to be fed. The army was fed well. The army of sons who became brothers and fathers and uncles and grandfathers. The army of daughters who became sisters and mothers and aunts and grandmothers. The same army that came from two very loving souls. The army was raised. The army was fed. She fed an army. She raised soldiers.
And where is the credit that we throw on to her? Where is the love and gratitude we give for her extraordinary efforts? Is it in our complaints and rash statements? Is it in the kisses and hugs we give her? Where does it come to justice? Oh she fed an army and she fed it well. She raised an army and she raised it well. And now her soldiers will one day win this war. Her soldiers will finally leave, and as she is already known as queen, she will finally take her place on her thrown and smile as her soldiers thank her and turn to the greatest battle yet. For she had raised an army, and she had raised it well.
It was inspired by my hard working mother.
As the second hand of the clock struck that same time every single day for the past seventeen years of my life, my mother was up at that very moment, doing what she had been doing since the day I was born. She had been feeding an army.
The pain was on its way again as she walks out of bed. More than twice a day, it always came about. The blood rushed through her veins, to her anemic legs, which caused her to become lightheaded and dizzy from time to time. Even though it was hard work, and even though she wondered whether following this certain road was right, she had a goal and she had to accomplish it. She is potent, she is selfless, and she is my mother. You could feel her strength before you took a look into her brown eyes. But if you ever do take a look into those eyes, do be ready, for your heart will bounce and jump with pride. Because right when you look into her very eyes, you see right through to her soul. Her pure, loving, clean, beautiful soul.
She moves through the kitchen with ten things on her mind at once, grasping onto hope and God as she travels through her day. Her mind and soul and heart never parted, they were always with one another.
An entire bucket full of fresh beans in one hand being washed over the sink as she rushes to the stove as she hastily fans the smoke away. Meanwhile the hot steam creeps inside her lungs, as preparation was closer to its intended destination. This was a daily scene. A daily adventure. A daily war.
How long has it been this way? My sibling never gave a second thought. Every single day that we had been alive. Who fed us? Who raised us? She did. This doesn't happen to every army. Not every army stands as strong. Many do fall apart. Many do break off and fade away, but her army- my brothers and sisters- was held together. Her soldiers were trained well. Her soldiers were taught to be vehement. As she was also taught to be vehement.
She was feeding an army and the army had to be fed. The army was fed well. The army of sons who became brothers and fathers and uncles and grandfathers. The army of daughters who became sisters and mothers and aunts and grandmothers. The same army that came from two very loving souls. The army was raised. The army was fed. She fed an army. She raised soldiers.
And where is the credit that we throw on to her? Where is the love and gratitude we give for her extraordinary efforts? Is it in our complaints and rash statements? Is it in the kisses and hugs we give her? Where does it come to justice? Oh she fed an army and she fed it well. She raised an army and she raised it well. And now her soldiers will one day win this war. Her soldiers will finally leave, and as she is already known as queen, she will finally take her place on her thrown and smile as her soldiers thank her and turn to the greatest battle yet. For she had raised an army, and she had raised it well.