She is a woman of substance. She is great, wonderful, loving, caring. She is responsible. She is so great. To me, she is better than Oprah Winfrey, she is better than Mother Teresa. She is the total opposite of my father. She is my mum.
One who cares, one who loves, one who makes who feel warm, one who lakes you feel comfortable, one who make you cry and smile, one who cheers you up, one who tells you that everything is going to be okay, one who you thinks about when you’re far away from home, one who you would feel very sorry after you have hurt her, one who you would never want to loose, one who you would die rather than losing her. That’s the one who I call her mum.
Whenever I am supposed to write a composition about someone who I love most, someone whom is utmost important to me, someone whom I respect most, someone whom I cant live without, someone whom I treasure most, someone whom I seek when I feel that the world is so dark, inevitably, I think about her—my mum. Pictures and images keep pouring into my mind, I can’t stop thinking about her greatness, there’s so much I can write about her. Since I was a toddler until this very day, there are still so many happy and sad memories together with her. This warm and fussy feeling keeps oozing into me whenever I am told to describe about her. Well, maybe I don’t write that well, but if I had the talent to be an author, I am sure to write a book about this woman that I have in my life.
She was there to cheer me up, she was there to scold me when I make mistakes, she was there to cover me from being humiliated, she was there supporting me when I feel very unhappy. She was there to give me sound advice, she was there listening to me whenever I faced problems, she was there to joke and laugh and talk nonsense with me, never once had she missed each and every bit of me, growing up. She never grumbles, she never holds a grudge, she is willing to sacrifice a lot and a lot. She is understanding, she...
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