My mom is an alien.

Seriously?! You want me to talk about aliens?! Hell no; I’m giving my mom the spotlight. Aliens are nothing but boring little greens! How come my mom’s better than aliens though? Easy enough; she’s the weirdo in the weirdest weirdoes. She loves singing deformed lyrics, or rather, screeching them out and terribly off-key. It gets rather rebarbative at times, but it usually brightens the mood. But besides all that, my mom is strange, also for saying strange things, like popping an irrelevant word amidst a normal conversation. And in additional, my mom asked if my friends (whom she had never seen, only heard of) were fictional, even under the circumstance that there were indirect proofs. Of course I denied, but when I told my friends about the incident a moment later, they all immediately admitted, solemnly, that they were fictional, and that they hold charity events with non-fictional beings. But besides all that, my mom’s actually quite talented, artistically. In fact she’s so good at arts, it’s probably the cause of her ineptness at mathematical enumeration of trailing zeros. Even though this might seem strange to you, I’m quite familiar with it, given that I’ve grown up under such impressions. So I’ve always believed that my talented, weirdo, crazy mom would always love me beyond comprehension, that is, until last Friday at noon. Last Friday, my mom was out to buy groceries for dinner, and I tagged along, mainly for the purpose of fresh air. I normally hated supermarkets, but the apricity was simply dazzling and irresistible. My mom then strangely said: "we're not going to the supermarket, but rather somewhere else."/So here we are, walking (skipping in my case) and enjoying the glories of life. / Now She was singing her crazy songs again. / "Do you hear the little green sing / singing the song of the little green thing" / Little green sing? What the hell is that? My mom seemed agitated and when I questioned her for the cause of her uneasy brows, she pulled me close and told me to wait and see. We entered a forgotten garden somewhere at the back of the supermarket, and there we saw a cyberpunk disk, with futuristic lights and a monotone voice. It was absolutely terrifying, yet magnificent in stature. It was amazing, the sight. I stared in awe and shock. But my mom seemed like as if it was an everyday sight, and waddled over. She hailed at the UFO as if it was a taxi, and got happily lifted inside by the laser-like beacon, while beckoning for me to follow. When we were comfortably seated in the UFO, my mom confirmed my suspicions; she is, indeed, an alien from Mars! But if my mom is an alien, then what am I?I must be an extra-terrestrial being too! according to the logical reasons of genetics. After all, now that I’ve thought it over, I seem to possess strange traits as well!T1:> I can make both of my eyebrows dance in a very fashionable and exotic manner.T2>I have noticed that on several occasions, my face would turn gold as the rays hit me, and my eyes would be kaleidoscope along with my complexion.T3:>I’ve argued with a dog when I was 2 years old. My mom was holding me when a he ran up to me and barked madly. I furiously barked back at the dog, and for a very long time, I was barking in a language no human understood.T4:> I am ingenious in linguistics. I’ve never learnt Spanish yet I have completed homework for a friend and received full marks for it.T5:> I am mad about history. I have never understood why I so often traveled back in time in my dreams, into historical scenarios and met Elizabeth I and Queen Anne Boleyn, and cried for their deaths. Alas, they have all passed.

This thought absolutely terrifies me. I don’t even know what I am! But being an alien doesn’t seem foreign, in fact it fits. I am an alien. That sounded nice, rolling off the tongue. But haven’t I always been an alien? Living on Mars, eating tofu with jam, and popsicles with eggs. That’s right, I live there, by the Martian seaside next to Aristotle, yes, exactly that Greek philosopher. I am lavish I suppose, as I am currently lying on my gold throne and petting my Martian potatoes. They make wonderful pets when growing, and brilliant food when cooked in sauce. I have to say; I do feel extremely proud for being an alien and living by the Martian sea and next to a dead historical figure, while you Earthlings are stuck in your houses furiously scribbling on your homework. You see, aliens are unique in ways humans define as ‘crazy’, and I won’t deny so, because aliens are crazy and they have legal certificates to prove it. We are unique and that’s what makes us so fabulous, unlike you boring humans.