A mushy title like “My first three memories” or simply “Memories” is simply not me. Instead I decided to embrace internet language – but, like, I’m using it ironically. Which is an odd contrast to what I wanted to write about today: a few days ag, I remembered a dormant memory from back in my very early childhood. They are foggy memories – I can recall clearly only very fragmented parts but it helps as I write them down.
Mem #1: The horse.
When I was about 4 or 5 years old, I was at my uncle’s farm with my three older and much more able-bodied sisters and one of my cousins. The latter had showed us all of her pets – she had quite a few, from hermit crabs to horses and everything in between. Lambs and ferrets, dogs and cats – and I’ve probably forgotten a few in there.
She had let my three older sisters ride the horse and then, it was my turn. This is the part that is really lodged in my brain: the feeling of looking up at a gigantic horse and thinking something along the lines of “How am I gonna get up there?” It was huge. Sooo high and a beautiful glossy chestnut, a gentle horse… but still, huge.
My cousin said doubtfully, “”Maybe you could ride Blackberry.” Blackberry was the pony – a lovely thing that was a much more acceptable height, ho was a delight to ride around in a circle while my cousin tightly held the reins to guide us both. Despite my misgiving about riding the horse, there is still the nagging feeling of annoyance about that day. I wanted to ride the horse. Yes, I was too small to do it, but my sisters had done so and I wanted to too.
Mem #2: The house.
I was three years old when my parents decided to move the six-person family from our tiny,one-bathroom, three-bedroom house to a house that would actually fit us all in comfortably.
At the time, I did not fully grasp the concept. Even from such a young age I have been a creature of habit. Like Jo March, change is not my favourite thing. However, I have had to grow less advers to it and, even though I might not always like it, I do not resist change.
I asked Mum, “Why do we have to move”. She replied, very reasonably, “Because the house is too small for us.” With wisdom, I said “But Dad doesn’t even reach the roof.”
Mem #3: Kinder.
I remember very little from kindergarten, but my most vivid memory is from a bright, sunny day on the bark chips below the playground, when I was about to climb onto the ladder.
“You’re not allowed” said one of my colleagues. A male.
“‘Coz it’s a pirate ship. Only boys.” Stuck-up fool he was.
“Girls can be pirates too.” I’m not even sure if I did get on – never one for physical violence or a test of strength, my only option would be to fight against this patriarchal regime verbally.
This three memories all have one thing in common: I argue. Dispute. To some level, I stick up for myself – and, if needs be, for others. However, I see myself now as very different to this and I’m not sure if I like it. Recently, somebody broke into my car and stole some CDs and my GPS. When I discovered this, I didn’t run around the house, or ring up the police immediately, or use up angry energy on my sister’s boxing gloves. No, I sat down and went on with lunch.
Calmness is a good thing. But I should have been angry or annoyed – instead, I have no energy. I want something in my life to give ma bit more passion and motive. Right now, I don’t know where I am going.