by Jessica Cha

Created on: March 17, 2009

I opened my eyes like every other morning, but the air I breathed in filled my lungs with something different that day. There was wonderment and excitement, yet a familiar old carpet smell that never left our apartment. This is another Christmas story told, but this one is mine and I hold it in my heart and guard it because it was the first time I realized that I was my mother's life.

We lived in a one bedroom apartment. At night it felt like our bed was on the middle of the freeway, but now it's the sounds of the cars that lulled me to sleep that I miss the most. Some would call the apartment small. Others might frown at it. I loved it. It held my mother and my entire life's possessions. It represented our adventures, our arguments, hid our secrets, heard our tears and laughter, and sheltered our many nights of sleep on the giant bed. I had no idea that money was a problem. She never told me. Some days she would just end the grueling hours at the cleaners with, "We had a long day. Let's go shopping!" I would immediately jump up from the couch-my imaginary restaurant on some days and forest the next- and grab my mother's hand.

About a month away from Christmas my mother asked me, "What do you want for Christmas?" Now, as most people know, this is a question representing an empty jar. What could we fill it with? For an 8 year old, the answers are infinite. "Anything?" my eyes bulged while my mind began reeling with ideas. "Well just tell me and we'll see." I never really wanted anything. The things my mother got me were satisfying enough. I never seemed to desire things as most children do. I would just imagine most of the time. I sat on my couch everyday watching my mother work without a grimace on her face. I know now that she hid her tiredness from me. My warrior. My provider. I read on that couch, ate on it, slept on it, jumped on it, sung on it. I wonder what my mother's customers thought of me.

I loved to read. It was during this time that I was going through my All American Girls series phase. These books were short and sweet. Every girl in the story were educated, spirited, confident, and well rounded. I wanted to be like that. They always knew what to say and were mature beyond their years. Each girl was set in a different American time so I, of course, imagined myself the All American girl of my time. I became so obsessed that I subscribed to their catalog as well. The catalog was filled with porcelain dolls of the characters, accessories, bedroom sets,

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