To My Mother, The Woman Who Taught Me To Fight Every Battle With Your Own Hands

This goes to the woman I love the most, to the woman who holds me and places me together like a puzzle with soft, gentle, but disciplining hands as many times as necessary; from when I was four and my toys came to life every time I played with them, to when I had my first crush, and to when I was thirteen and a new world made me lose my direction – she always reminded me who I was.

This goes to the woman who loves me unconditionally and tells me what I need to hear, even if it shatters my heart. She is always there to take care of every single piece of it and help me put it back together.

This goes to the woman whose eyes, hair, and lips I inherited and whose strength and infinite courage was planted in me like a seed that began to grow by experiences and love. To the woman who told me I don’t need a man to be happy, that I don’t need a man to remind me how divine I am, that I don’t need a hero because I’m not a princess, I’m a warrior.

This goes to a stunning, wise soul, to a woman whose heart pumps the purest love of all and whose mouth only speaks words of wisdom. To the woman who raised me with her own hands and whose affection, like mother nature, nourishes the flowers and suddenly makes them bloom one day, my mother’s support is like the sun and her lectures like rain to the flowers that with enough of both turn into a breathtaking view.

This goes to the woman who fights every battle with her own hands and taught me that it’s okay to break down sometimes, to allow yourself to feel like the most miserable girl in the world for a little bit – as long as you get back up and keep fighting. To the woman with the most transcendental ideas, brightest mind, and prettiest smile. To the woman who hasn’t changed the world yet, but is getting there.

This goes to my mother, the woman I love the most.