WHAT A FIRST CHAPTER WOULD SAY:
Three years old in a bright new world
This is me. Born on a warm September morning (according to the momsis).
I was a quiet baby, somehow shy from the world.
Shy and afraid. But never too shy for my colors on paper. I could spend hours drawing. A three-year-old that could draw her whole world with just one swish.
I'm not sure of what I would spend hours drawing, but I for sure did know that my brother was not brought by the “birthing stork” with gifts for me. I knew my newborn brother had come out of my mother’s body and that the gifts were my parents' hopes of us getting along.
All these by age of three.
Not sure where that knowledge came from, but boy did I know. Naive were my parents to believe that toys would soften the blow of what was about to come with the years. I guess somehow it did, until we both started heading to our teenage years. It all then became a warfare.
Mortal Kombat had nothing on us.
How it started
We were like wild animals rampaging.
Fights got more subtle once I got tired of getting blamed for all of them being the oldest.
“Make an example”, they would say.
And so an example I did.
Instead of hitting back, I would hold his arms to stop him from angering me. I kept my beast in check.
I made an example, alright.
Never the perfect student, but somehow I made it through high school being 3rd in my class. Being on the honor roll. Being loved by most teachers. I took care of all my responsibilities.
But what not everyone knew is that my responsibilities and I grew bigger by the second, extinguishing that child flame quicker than you saying eureka.
I would never say I had a bad childhood, but it wasn’t the easiest. Especially trying to be an example for the rest.
By the time I was in my early teens, my family had lost a booming business causing financial problems. My parents never said anything. They would act as if everything was still perfect. Or maybe they didn’t act and just knew that things could only get better.
However, not so naive, I still knew what was going on.
I would do my best to repress my child's wants. I never asked for anything. Not even for things I “needed”, especially if they cost money.
I didn't want to become a burden.
I remember this one class I had in seventh grade.
I attended a fancy “rich kids” school due to scholarships. A school in which I felt that I didn’t belong most of the time.
This one teacher would put the coolest projects which could only be accomplished by spending money. Money that I didn’t want to ask for. And so all my extravagant projects became nonexistent, making me almost fail the class.
Asking became a problem.
The root of almost all my problems nowadays.
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