My Mother
She’s my mother——just an ordinary woman in her forties. I can’t remember her age clearly. Maybe you will think that I’m not a good son. But we just keep doing our own things and enjoy own life——a single and happy life.
She looks not tall, but always s make me feel that I nan never reach her. When I was quite young, she was already very strict with me. If I did something good, she just said “all right. Do what you have to do next, then.” If I did something a little bad, she’d be greatly angry and shouted at me. As the time went on, she became even “worse”. I think that can be called bad. Whatever I’m interested in is not allowed to do, and whatever I hate has to be done a lot. So that my mother and I are always complaining about the marks I get in the exams, the time I spend in playing and things I buy, which have nothing to do with my studies.
She never lets me do the washing and cleaning, for she just tells me to study hard. I haven’t got enough pratise. So I’m weak at looking afering myself. When I am alone, I’m always morrying about myself — I don’t know how to wash my clothes; I don’t know how to buy the best htings at a low prece, and I don’t know many many things. I just hope that she won’t regard me a little child any longer, and let me do what I want to do. I know you love me, Mum, but now I’m a grown-up. I love you, too, forever.
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