It was March of 1998; a bitter, cold morning she spent lying in a hospital bed caressing me in her arms. From that moment on, my mother has and always will be my ample motivation. It’s not just an emotional attachment that is brought on naturally by the forces of motherhood, but it is a psychological binding between the two of us that is nearly impossible to explain. The emotional impact of someone knowing more about you than you know about yourself is virtually magical. She has taught me more about my inner-self and the mysteries of the world more than anyone else I have ever met. My mother always told me I had a chameleon soul; it was because, like her, I shared a common habit of irrevocable indecisiveness. Every day of my life I wanted
