Turning Pages

When I was 8 years old, my mother sat me down on the old carpet in the office and patiently taught me algebra. Despite my whining and complaints, she walked me through the intricate ins and outs of exponents and square roots, explained PEMDAS, and showed me how to isolate X. Little did I know that later that year, I would skip a grade due to my advanced math skills. At the time, I never thought to say, "Thanks, Mom." At the age of 12, I gained admission to Uni. My mom not only wrote the application for me but also endured my tantrums as I complained about studying for the SSAT. She played a crucial role in securing recommendations when one of my original recommenders fell through just days before the deadline. When we received the acceptance letter, saying “Thanks mom.” Never occurred to me. At 13, I found myself struggling as a freshman in high school, barely passing each assignment. Yet, my mom never gave up on me. She helped me with every missing assignment, raising my fai

  Storm Drains “Nyla, run out and do this next one,” my mother said as she extended the newspaper towards me. I sat in the car torn between the outstretched arm and the water swiftly flowing into the inauspicious drain beneath the orange mailbox. A knot tightened in my stomach, as the unsettling image of an unseen force pulling me into the drain flashed through my mind. “ Just do it youll be fine” I reassured myself as I summoned the courage to accept the task.  Tentatively grabbing the newspaper from my mothers hand I exited the car with hesitation. The rainwater's gurgling descent into the drain seemed to echoe ominously in my ears as I cautiously advanced towards the mailbox. Suddenly, the blare of a horn shattered my focus, jolting me back to the task at hand “ Come on, Nyla.” my mother called out impatiently. With a quick glance from the car to the drain I tossed the newspaper into the mailbox and spirited back tot the safety of the car. My heart was pounding with a mix of saf