Friday, May 17, 2013

How I Am Like My Mother

How I am like my mother:
I never thought that I would say anything like this.
For those of you who know me, you will understand that I am not like my mom. We don’t look alike. We don’t act alike. We don’t generally have the same interests. We aren’t like those moms and daughters who do everything together. Our personalities are not at all alike.
I am most like my dad. We have a lot in common. We typically are outgoing extroverts. We both have similar interests. Our personalities are very alike. Although I don’t really look like either of my parents, I would say that I mostly resemble my dad because of our blue eyes.
I really would NORMALLY say that I am nothing like my mom.
But, being away from her has made me come aware of her little quirks.
You know how people will say that you end up being just like your parents and you should take note when you are young because when you “grow up” you will become one or both of them? Now, I do.
This experience really has been such a defining point in my life. With my mom gone and being the “fill in” woman of the house, I have certainly reached “that” moment in my life. “That” moment is when people tell you that they have made it to a point in their lives when they are a man or a woman and no longer in the awkward “teenage” years. I’m sure you understand what I mean, its when people tell you that they became a man when they first got their tattoo, or a woman first became a woman when she saw a loved one die, or someone believes they became an adult when they lost their virginity.
You know what I mean. The “that” moment is when someone grew up. Or grew up over a certain amount of time but decided to pinpoint a moment when it all came together. The “climax” moment, if you will. The defining moment in a story.
This is my climax moment. If someone will ever ask me in the future when I became a “woman” or grew up. I think it would have to be this moment right now. “When my mom needed to leave for a few months to take care of my little micro-primee brother in Utah. The time when I needed to step up and try to survive emotionally for my little sisters and not just go and hide in my room all day. To talk to them and tell them they are loved and tell them to be so very proud of our mom for doing the not-so-easy task.
I don’t know if I have the right to “deem” myself a “woman” without... uh.. permission of sorts. But, I think that I have the right to say that I am becoming like my mom already.
I have started to get annoyed when people do things “off” of our calendar without consulting me.
I come home from school and comment on how “this house is a wreck”
I feel the need to be early everywhere.
(the obvious) I started writing blogs to let off steam and unspoken feelings.
I am telling Hope her “truths” when she gets upset or has a meltdown to cool her off and speak against the anger inside of her.
I find myself getting up earlier and just being downstairs in a quiet home till the minions wake up.
I find myself getting angry over unjust situations and feel so much hurt for “The least of these”
I cry while reading books.
I hide in the bathroom (just kidding that is purely my mom’s thing).
I pray so strongly for my family.
All just like my mom.
I love you mom. Thank you for giving me this opportunity to be a woman and taking the one given to you.

Mariana Christine 


  1. You've got me thinking.
    Totally agree this is definitely one of those stand out moments....climax moments if you will. I'm fascinated by the fact that you are able to see it while in the midst of it. That speaks strongly to me of your stellar character and heart. Most people, okay at least for me, don't tend to see it until they are on the other side.

  2. My dearest Brigitta...there is no greater person you could aspire to be like than your precious, very courageous, Mamasita! Take her endearing qualities and nurture them in your heart forever...and then continue to be the very special YOU that you are. You are lovely...and you have made your mother very proud today. Love you...Sandra