MY MOTHER MY HELPER CHAPTER 1

I was born into a poor family. My father had passed away when I was just a baby, and my mother was left to care for me and my younger sister alone. We lived in a small, cramped apartment in a low-income neighborhood.

The apartment was a tiny, two-bedroom place with peeling paint and creaky floors. The kitchen was small and outdated, with a rusty sink and a stove that only worked half the time. The bathroom was even smaller, with a shower that dripped constantly and a toilet that often overflowed.

Despite the many challenges she faced, my mother worked tirelessly to provide for us. She would wake up every morning at 4am to start her day, working as a cleaner in the local market. She would then come home and cook dinner for us, before helping us with our homework and putting us to bed.

My mother was a hard worker, but she was also a kind and loving person. She had a beautiful smile and a warm laugh, and she always made us feel loved and special. She would tell us stories and sing us songs, using her beautiful voice to transport us to a different world.

I remember those early years as a struggle. We often went to bed hungry, and our apartment was cold and drafty in the winter. But despite the difficulties, my mother always found a way to make us feel loved and cared for.

She would make us soup from scraps, and bake bread from flour and water. She would patch up our clothes and make us new ones from old fabric. She would even make us toys from nothing, using her imagination and creativity to turn trash into treasure.

As I grew older, I began to realize just how much my mother had sacrificed for us. She had given up her own dreams and aspirations to care for us, and had worked tirelessly to provide for us. I felt a deep sense of gratitude and love for her, and I knew that I wanted to make her proud.

But as I entered my teenage years, I began to feel the weight of our difficult circumstances. I felt embarrassed by our poverty.

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