When I sat at the desk, trying to write the essay, I found it hard to set pen to paper. Staring at the topic I deliberately chose for myself "my mother", I felt the memory of 20 years with my mother suddenly turned into a haze, blurring my eyes to discern the past, with nothing towering, nothing flaring, nothing impressive or special enough as a landmark. The haze gradually cleared away, revealing the image of an amicable woman. I recalled a line from the famous movie "Sleepless in Seattle". The radio column hostess asked Sam, "What's so special about your wife?" He answered, "That's millions of small things." Right,trivial and commonplace, like obscure beans, yet woven into the most spectacular necklace by the power of love. My mother is ordinary, but in my eyes she is special.
