When I think of my mom, I think of an octopus. An Octopus? You must be thinking I am mad. But no, I truly think of an octopus. You see, like the creature, my mom also has eight hands one tending to me and my sister, the other to juggle her house work, yet another one to cook, to take care of my grandparents, to the laundry and you get the picture. Unlike an octopus, her hands are imaginary which means two things:
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