One of my earliest memories is my mother. She had short, dark brown hair that always had a clip with a white flower. I remember she often wore a simple white blouse and a long black skirt that almost reached her ankles. She was always happy, showing a smile that everyone loved. I remember how she always stopped eating halfway through a meal to help me with mine.
I remember going to the playground downstairs every day. I loved how it was so close to the small forest. There were large, tall trees surrounding the playground area. It was often filled with the sounds of insects and birds chirping. It would have been terrifying, if not for the laughter of my neighbours. We would run around the colourful playground, climbing up and down.
I remember the living room, which seemed a lot larger when I was younger. It always smelt like fried chicken, noodles or fish, whatever it was that my mother was cooking. I loved to slide on the smooth floor whenever I wore socks. I remember waddling down the long hallway and into my parent’s room, where I slept as well. I slept on a mattress on the floor, but I often climbed into my parent’s bed as I feared the monsters under the bed. I would wedge myself in between my parents for maximum comfort. Sometimes on boring afternoons, I would climb onto the bed to jump on it. I remember my mother coming in and catching me mid-air, and tell me for the umpteenth time not to jump on the bed.
These are my earliest and greatest memories.
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