I just finished my completely driven in nervousness, as I still felt eyes upon me. The room was absolutely quite and as I took a solid inhale and a shaky exhale for me to finish saying the finishing lines. I just told segments of my mom’s life, years worth of memories and experiences, complex and contrasting to each other in small blue and steel chair. pouring out weeks worth of trying to memorize the monologue in which unveiled a part of my mom. Presenting wasn’t the most significant moment for me. Neither was it the time when I came back to my seat, feet feeling clumsy as it dawned on me that I forgot a couple lines. I thought about my mom, and a feeling of satisfaction that spread like wildfire. I thought about our interview and everything my mom has told me. I remember thinking of how I would answer my questions if I was my mom. What I would say to my kid if I had one.. Would I be proud of what I’ve done? Would it be something I’d want to share with someone? It was a passive slow rush of self questioning thoughts that made me wonder about my life, and was I really satisfied with how I’ve been doing things. I felt especially feel proud of my mom at that moment. I was proud that wasn’t involved in obnoxious drinking, or got influenced by drugs. I appreciate that she wasn’t a trouble maker and that she was grounded of growing up. It’s unclear to me how I would really describe that feeling, but there is respect I hold for my mom. An image of her, filtered and shape by her role as a mom.


With a flicker of her eyes darting inside the pages of my mom’s mind, it was like her memories came anew. As the pieces slowly became familiar she connected them all together between the slight struggles in between her pauses. She told them to me, painting brief sections of this whole chapter filled life she had before I came in the picture. I pondered about our interview in the short time after I arrived in the solitude of my room. If I recall, talking about my mom’s childhood and high school days seemed to be the most comfortable for her. I came to realize that significant choices she made at least had some kind of relation or connection with the people in her life. She’s very family oriented and with the set of values that stressed respect for family, her family’s opinion influenced her occupation. My mom’s occupation would someday structure the kind of life she would have. It all seemed that the events that played out were in correlation with each other. Her decisions truly tested the meaning of ‘thinking before you act‘.. Her regrets are from the things she couldn’t find closure from, and it was a side of her that surprised me because it was a part of her that was still so wounded. My mom’s habits, pauses, and repetition of phrases didn’t phase me until I started transcribing our interview. To think about it now it actually engrossed me how simple words became intriguing and sounded like a book itself. I enjoyed the process of interviewing my mom, if I could I would make better use of my probes and structure my sentences so she would be able to elaborate more on her story. An English class felt like a time warp, where we partook in a mixture of memories in different time periods and lives . The memories just don’t deteriorate and people aren’t just forgotten when their remembered by the people in their lives and there’s stories to keep them close.