Bonding Experience

The summer of 1999 was coming to an end, the night air grew brisker and the morning's grass was dew covered in Guyana. The sun had just started to set behind our home covering the sky like a beautiful work of art and Sat ma-mu would soon be home. The sky looked like someone had just painted a sphere with fiery purple and red paint shooting up towards the sky. I walked into the kitchen only to be greeted by my auntie cooking dinner. She stood there one hand on her hip, her one leg stuck out at her side, knee slightly bent, stirring the pot holding the spoon all the way at the tip of the handle. She looked as pissed off as could be. My auntie always felt she could be doing a million other things besides cooking dinner. We sat there talking until I heard a familiar soft rumble in front of our house. The rumble was accompanied by my uncle fidgeting at the front door. His old noisy Bronco always made his presence known his old noisy Bronco always made his presence known with the exhaust coughing smoke out and the stick-shift clicking loudly as he parked the car. He plodded down the hallway into the kitchen to greet my aunt with a peck on the cheek. After one more quick stir she plopped a hot pad on the table followed by a pan of sliced meatloaf in sauce. The smell of the meat, potatoes, and veggies filled the kitchen instantly and the family gathered around the table. It was a typical meal in our household; my aunt had a million other things to do that day, including having her own personal time did not feel like cooking a twelve course meal. However, my ma-mu who always came home expecting steak did not see the meal as appetizing as the rest of us.

When my ma-mu bellowed at my auntie we were expecting it. The argument of "I want steak" and "I was working all day" was common in our family. I immediately took my auntie's side, like I usually did, because no one in this family appreciates or respects what she does typically. My ma-mu would later grow to regret what he had said and would apologize. Tonight was different though. My auntie usually takes my ma-mu's comments in stride knowing he really does not mean what he says. But, this time they both exploded at each other and my auntie ended up running out of the kitchen upset, retiring to her room.

No one is ever home to see how hard she works. They don't see her writing letters or filling out applications for hours every week in her room, or the drafting, typing, rewriting, and revising over and over again on the computer. They just yell and say that she's