When I look in the mirror, I see my late mother: I have her nose, her dark eyes - I call them chocolate eyes - I have her colouring, and my hair is greying the same way, although I use colour and she didn't.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
Everything I see, I now see through a mother's eyes.
My mom has beautiful eyes, and I inherited a lot of her rituals, accentuating eyes.
My parents told me from the time I can remember that, 'Yeah, you're adopted. But this is your family.' I can remember my mom, she tells me this story: when I was little, I was looking at her, and I was like, 'Why isn't my skin the same color as yours?' She was like, 'Oh, you're adopted, but I wish I had pretty brown skin like you.'
I have just one black and white photograph left of my mother when she was younger. She was 17 when it was taken and beautiful with wispy curls and eyes that shone like dark marbles.
I think about my mother every day. But usually the thoughts are fleeting - she crosses my mind like a spring cardinal that flies past the edge of your eye: startling, luminous, lovely... gone.
People say the top part of my face looks like my dad's and the bottom part like my mom's. I have his eyes and her nose and mouth.
The less I behave like Whistler's mother the night before, the more I look like her the morning after.
My mother's eyes were large and brown, like my son's, but unlike Sam's, they were always frantic, like a hummingbird who can't quite find the flower but keeps jabbing around.
I get my light eyes from my mother.
My mum is really fair and has blonde hair, and my dad is not dark, either.