The Art of Discrimination
Family! What a simple word full of affection and tenderness. This warm
word sounds quite familiar to everyone. It is as known as the soccer game to all of us.
However, if I add the possessive pronominal adjective “my” to the word “family”, this
affectionate word has an identity now. It belongs to me, not to someone else.
Seriously, without my family I would never have been completed or at least to be in the way that I am now. Simply,
it is my source of an unlimited cheerfulness and courage. As everyone, I have been
getting through many difficulties this semester. Thus, all what I have done so far is just
a simple phone call to my mom or dad that helps me to calm down after any tough day.
These kinds of phone calls are like psychological therapies to me. Brief, my family
gives me the sense of my existence, supports me, and doesn’t judge me. Merely, there
is a mutual sacred love between us, and that reflects the peacefulness that I feel
It is all started when I and my family travelled outside Morocco. I was seven
years old at that time. I still remember that day when my dad decided to make this trip
as a surprise to me. It was Friday, and the school bus was just rode me home.
I was very exciting that evening because it was the last in school, it was summer
vacation. Like every time, the first person that expected to see after school was
my mom. I rang the bell, and my mom opened the door. She seemed very happy,
and I couldn’t figured out what was the reason for that. Then, I went toward the living
room where my dad was watching TV:
After that, my dad said the magic phrase that I was dreaming to hear for a long time.
He said that we were going to Spain. I was overwhelmed with joy, and I couldn’t
stand so as the day