When I thought about mom, I thought about her presence in the kitchen. She was wearing a floral apron that she had sewed herself and in her right hand a spatula, while the other was holding a frying pan.
That was my mom. Always busy cooking. I loved watching her in the kitchen ever since I was little. When she tied her hair and faced the stove, that was when the show began.
Her sleek move when she perfectly flipped the egg or in any other case, a pancake, I thought she used to be a juggler. My young little self couldn't help but be amazed, so I asked her if she was one.
But, she laughed and said, "No, darling. Mom's not a juggler."
True, I didn't think my mom would suit a clown outfit. It would look funny on her.
The next day, I sat by the counter again and watched eagerly as my mom cooked us a dinner. This time, she didn't flip anything but she conjured a big fire instead. My eyes widened in shock when I saw the fire raged inside the wok.
