It is funny how you can remember some things and others you can’t. I can remember my first balloon when I was two, I can remember when my mother used to swaddle before I could walk. I remember that mostly because I swore to break free from those blankets she wound me in so tightly. I could barely breath and it was impossible to move. I felt helpless and the best I could do to express my discomfort was to make unhappy faces.
I remembering eating liver and chicken’s heart (might sound gross but succulent) in my soup and I liked it. I ate everything they put in front of me. That was me. However, I can’t remember my sister. I don’t remember playing with her or even seeing her. I know she was there. I don’t remember taking my first steps or my first birthday. I remember certain smells, sounds and sights. My memories are jumbled but there are there, in my memory box.
I have some bad memories too. I learned that I had a learning difficulty especially with numbers. I tended to struggle in math and history class because I confused the dates with certain events. I never thought there was anything wrong with me, it was just frustrating. It was not until I was in my early teens did they discover I had dyslexia. I struggled all the way to college but I cherish every moment because the harder it was for me the harder I pushed.