Personal Narrative: My Abuela's Home
Walking into my Abuela’s house, I was greeted by the aroma of authentic Mexican food, my Abuela’s famous Enchiladas. My parents sent me to my Abuela's house all the way in a small Mexican village as my parents had recently made the decision of officially splitting apart. I was Abuela’s only source of support at this time and I had to be there for her. Recently having my Abuelo pass away, my family was in a tough situation with it coming at us all at once. But even after the great loss, Abuela stayed strong and that’s what i admired about her the most. ‘¿Cómo estás mi amor? How are you my love?’ Abuela squealed in her cute Spanish accent. I didn't want to remind Abuela of any of the circumstances taking place at the moment. My Abuela was
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The puddle was so dirty that I watched an insect crawl into it and slowly drown. My Abuela’s house wasn’t very old but had an ancient feel to it with the architectural features. Paintings of historians and of the landmarks my country took pride of were all embedded into the walls, and the arches were neatly formed, the tiles were painted a deep saffron yellow shade along with slight speckles in certain spots. My Abuelo built the house from the money he had saved up from his career both in the Mexican army and from his hobby of golfing. Every peso (currency in Mexico) he saved up was used to build this house. Every architectural feature of this house was designed by my sweet grandparents and was a result of their hard work. It had a lot of sentimental value to my family.
My abuela always had it hard being an army wife, never knowing if Abuelo was safe or even alive. She was my mother’s main figure, she mostly raised her on her own. Abuela and Abuelo were still together until he passed away but having him gone for such long periods of time, she practically raised her children on her own, and that was the reason why my Mother was getting a divorce. My mother liked the way she was raised. This is why she felt the need of being the only figure in my life, she was selfish.
The puddle was so dirty that I watched an insect crawl into it and slowly drown. My Abuela’s house wasn’t very old but had an ancient feel to it with the architectural features. Paintings of historians and of the landmarks my country took pride of were all embedded into the walls, and the arches were neatly formed, the tiles were painted a deep saffron yellow shade along with slight speckles in certain spots. My Abuelo built the house from the money he had saved up from his career both in the Mexican army and from his hobby of golfing. Every peso (currency in Mexico) he saved up was used to build this house. Every architectural feature of this house was designed by my sweet grandparents and was a result of their hard work. It had a lot of sentimental value to my family.
My abuela always had it hard being an army wife, never knowing if Abuelo was safe or even alive. She was my mother’s main figure, she mostly raised her on her own. Abuela and Abuelo were still together until he passed away but having him gone for such long periods of time, she practically raised her children on her own, and that was the reason why my Mother was getting a divorce. My mother liked the way she was raised. This is why she felt the need of being the only figure in my life, she was selfish.