When I was young, I swore to myself that my mother would never have to drive herself. From the backseat, I'd watch her push through a migraine on long drives home- Her hands would grip the wheel tighter, the radio silenced, and all I could hear was the sound of my thoughts. In those moments, I promised myself, “When I’m sixteen, everything will be different”. The first time I had to drive her was when I was fifteen, after getting my permit. I felt like I could single-handedly cure her migraines. Maybe if I drove carefully enough, she wouldn't feel the sharp turn onto our road. I thought I could ease her pain, just by avoiding the potholes on the road. I was naive, but I felt grown up. It wasn't because I could drive; it was being able to show her that I could take care of her. I learned then that kindness isn’t always grand gestures- it's choosing to ease someone's burden, even in small ways. I notice now, more and more often, the opportunities we all have, to ease someone's pain. My mother has a smile that lights up the room. Even when wracked with pain, she continues to smile, continues to give kindness, even when life hasn't been fair to her. She's crafted a way of life that I aspire to obtain; always patient and kind, even when hurting. She is a positive and sweet soul, always encouraging me. If I could embody even a fraction of her warmth and resilience, I would know I'm on the right path. My path has been paved by my mother's encouragement. On long car rides, I would wield a pencil, sketching whatever I could see outside- trees, clouds, the occasional bird. My mother would flip through my doodles, always gasping in awe until I was convinced I was the next DaVinci. My drawings weren't particularly impressive; but to her, they were masterpieces. Never once has she stopped encouraging me, not even when her headaches drove her to be bedridden for months. This constant reassurance and love has helped me become confident in my passion for art. Because of her support, I’ve felt comfortable enough to consider making it a career. In college I plan to pursue industrial design, to utilize my skills in research, communication, and drawing. It’s a difficult program, but I know that my mother will support me through it all. My mother is my superhero. She has given me love, kindness, and encouragement, even in pain. I could never repay her for everything she's done for me, never truly make her understand how much she's taught me, with her quiet strength. The only thing I can do is to take care of her in small ways, like driving her when she can’t. It's a simple act, but she's taught me that the small things mean the most.