Like Mother Like Daughter Artinya Mga Nobela at Kwento

Violent tendencies. Was I....was I becoming like my mother? My mother used to have violent tendencies that turned into full-blown abuse. And I was becoming like her! Like mother like daughter. It was inevitable that I turned like her. After all, she did brought me up and I grew up learning her ways. I don't want to become like her! I don't! I can't! I can't I can't I can't I can't I can't. No one would go through what I did especially from my hands. I can't. I can't. I don't want to. But I was. "I'm sorry" I mumbled in a shaky voice, my eyes wet with tears as I tried blinking them away and my head a record of unpleasant memories.

Mother came with chocolate pudding. I took the pudding and poured a lot of creams. This way, it puts me in a good mood a little. "Rara was afraid that he would be angry or angry." I put the soft pudding in my mouth. The cream is addictive. "Just report it. Don't be afraid, he did everything, told mother." I'm not chewing that soft pudding. My heart feels sad. Two people I love don't like each other. I want Gerald and my mother to be close from the bottom of my heart, like mother-daughter. Like a mother treating Mas Rangga. What is this simple wish so impossible to achieve?

He asked. “I do not ‘think’ so, father. I know it.” His expression contorted so badly, I wanted to laugh. “Why do you make that face? Does it sound silly?” “N – no but in times like this – you are very much like your mother, Persephone. Even if you never met her, you are very much like her.” It was a compliment of the highest order from my father whose right was my mother and everything else was wrong. For me to be like her meant he saw me as good enough at least.

“She likes to smile a lot.” “You said that she looks a lot like me.” Do Sejin leans closer to her. “But I wanted her to look like you.” “My mother used to say that girls who look like their father are lucky.” Ahn Hana tells him monotonously, “Although you don’t have a good personality or a brain, I am still glad that she resembles you more than she resembles me.”

"I know you don't like me. That's why you don't come home. I also don't like you very much but your dad misses you a lot, so come and meet him" the lady said ordering me in a commanding voice. "If he missed me so much, he would have come himself and not sent you" I said tauntingly with a fake smile. You have taken after your mother in terms of arrogance, if not anything else, but you have definitely learnt this arrogance from her. It is rightly said that like mother like daughter." "Do not say anything about my mother. She who has come in someone else's place has no right to speak like this."

As she could feel how grateful and anxious she is. She wanted to open her eyes that has been closed all this time, as she wanted to see who is this woman that is crying for her daughter. As she began to think that the gentleness of the woman's voice while saying that her daughter is everything to her, resembles the gentleness and care her mother has for her way back then. She is quite like this woman, gentle and caring towards her. She remembered that when she carelessly injured herself and got bruises, her mother will scold her but afterward would give her a hug saying gentle words that makes her heart melt.

Penny, men are unreliable creatures. I knew then that she was thinking of her past again. Mom grew up in the country and fell in love with a "bad boy" like most youngsters nowadays. This was the person Thomas had referred to as my birth father. Mom cut all ties with her family to be with my father and left the country with him. At first, my father promised her the world. He told her he would work hard to earn a lot of money so that Mom could have it easy. Mom was still in her early 20s then, so she had believed every single word my father had said.

I asked Sara. She shook her head and replied. “No, but what I have learned in my short time with mom is, that it doesn’t matter how hard you try, you never get the meaning behind her words. And even if you did, they still won’t make any sense to you. All I can do is accepting what she’s saying and hold on to that.” “You know, you are turning into her.” I joked and she started laughing at my words. “Well, like mother, like daughter.” Sara commented.

She couldn't accept that she was born to an evil daughter. “You! I wish that I had aborted you when you were in my tummy. I can't believe that I have a daughter like you! This is what I always wanted, your sister more than you. She's not a bitch, and she's a good daughter!” “Why don't you go to your beloved daughter? She's good. So she might help you to go out in this fuckinf jail. And I wished that I didn't have a mother like you; you all don't even treat me as your daughter. All you think about is Karen!”

But he walked beside me without a hint of impatience, watching me more than the art itself. “Do you like it?” he asked. I nodded, my eyes fixed on a canvas filled with blues and whites, an abstract swirl that somehow reminded me of freedom. “Yes. My mother used to love art.” “Tell me,” he encouraged. So I did. I told him about how my mother used to sit with me for hours, sketching little scenes in her notebook, teaching me how to see the beauty in simple things. “She said art was a way to leave a piece of your soul behind,” I said quietly.