I keep staring out the window. My father tells me I need to do my chores, but all I can do is stare. Where I live, all is beautiful. The mountains are a clear, grey and teal under the nearly constant bundle of clouds.
I don't know my neighbors, though, but I would like to. Nobody greets their neighbors on our little street anymore, and it feels off. Walking down the road of gorgeously laid pebbles I like to people watch. People of all races walk the same road I do, and we all enjoy the oaks and evergreens surrounding us. I realize that I don't know any of them -- not a soul to nod to or scream in complete exuberance of seeing them.

Our industry used to be fish, but oil is as precious as our blood these days. The streets are crowded with money hungry vultures, and they want every last penny they can acquire. We know nothing of how sad we really are. All of us. But we smile and pretend we're happy, so maybe they don't want our "tainted" blood.

My favorite mistake was one that led me to be the person I am today; an achiever, dreamer and philosophizing, half-crazy, brave-hearted woman who believes in herself more than anything else.

The year before I was born, my mother's father died. Upon his death, my father became a heavy drinker. She'd always loved partying, but this tragic happening brought her into such devastation all she could do was drink and drink.

I didn't notice my mother's alcoholism until I was about ten years old. Every time my father was away on business trips, the house smelled of liquor. I found half-empty glasses of wine when "looking for magazines I could read" or "trying to find the remote (which I'd hid to make this excuse)."

My mistake was waiting an entire year before telling anyone about my discovery. I told my best friend which whom I trusted all my secrets. Her mother found out on her own about my mother's alcoholism, and she spoke to my parents about it. One year later we moved away because my father got a better job offer, and my mother's alcoholism continued there.
She's gotten a weekly pill where we lived before, but where we moved, she was given a pill to take herself.

My mother said she took this pill, but did not. The smell returned to our house and she blackmailed me and my brother to not squeal.
We did tell our father eventually, though, and after a trip north my mother came home drunk and my parents were divorced.

This is my favorite mistake because if my father had found out earlier, what happened during that year would not have shaped me like it did.