“The strength of her love for me bursts through the angry facade she has built from bricks of disappointment.”
What does failure look like? To my mother, it may look like a daughter who writes for a living. It may even look like the books piled high on every spare surface in my bedroom—I prefer to call it my ‘artful hoarding den’—and my cluttered wardrobe bursting at its seams. It definitely looks like the unpacked suitcase occupying a corner of the floor, garments and accessories strewn across its open faces.
It's a bad habit I have nursed for years, putting off unpacking for weeks, ever since I started packing my own luggage for our annual year-end trips to my parents’
