• The smell, the fragrance, the look. My mother. The only thing I have left from her is this beautiful, fragile wool sweater she made with her own hands. I remember clearly on how she looks. How she smiles and her laugh, her beautiful eyes gleaming into mine. I remember her hugs and kisses, her lullabies. It's a shame that her life had to come to an end. It was a terrifying moment for me. My father doesn't know that I witnessed him killing my very own mother. I remember him crying afterwards, his loud wails. His psychotic smile as he did so. I was hiding behind a door when he did so, the tears streaming down my face uncontrollably. When he was finished, he called 911 and lied to them that he found his wife dead there. When he did so, I immediately ran out crying. I ran outside and ran nonstop in the cold snow, barefooted with nothing but the sweater she made me. I came back after the police and ambulance left. Father told me to come towards him so he can have a... "talk" with me.

    "Yes, daddy?" I asked in the most innocent voice I ever had as an eight year old.
    "Mommy isn't coming back for a long while." he says in his cold, stern voice I remember. "You understand? You have to be a good girl and do whatever I say, okay?" he says.
    I nodded. I didn't know what he meant by that, but I just went along with it. Afterwards, he turned his troubles towards alcohol and took out his anger out on me, beating me. He at times touched me in places that I never knew that could be touched like that. I heard him curse words that I was specifically instructed to never repeat. He never cleaned the house or fed me. I often had to go over to a friend's house for food, or perhaps my aunt's house. Whenever I came back from school, at times I'd stay over my friend's house to sleep over. When I went back to my house the next day, my father doesn't even notice that I was gone.

    It's sad to know I live this kind of life. How I witnessed my mother's death, suffered from my father's abuse, at times getting bullied in school and struggle in school with no absolute help. I managed to pass, at least. I headed off for a great college and passed there. No family to congratulate me, but a few friends. At least I have them. When I finish college, I'd stay at my friend's house to be roommates and worked full time as a kindergarten teacher in the nearest elementary school. At times I would visit my father with him passed out drunk on the couch, never to greet me or hug me like he sometimes did when I was little.

    All I could think whenever I see him, the permanent scars on my back, and when I see my mother's sweater is... why, father? Why did you give me that kind of childhood? Why did you make me suffer? You brought your suffering to yourself. It doesn't mean you have to take out your anger and suffering on myself. I often have the past dragging me back a lot, bringing me to suffering and paralyzing tears almost nonstop. But I try to live my life without the past dragging me back. I try to have fun with my friends and with the children whom I teach. I'll never forgive my father for what he has done. Yet, I thank him. I thank him for giving me the beatings, I thank him for yelling at me, and I thank him for the rotten childhood he has given me. If he didn't, I would be spoiled. I would've been spoiled by others including my mother and family friends. I wouldn't be the person I am today, and I thank him for that. Thank you...