ChildHood Memoirs

[Originally written on May 25, 2004 (12:30 A.M)]

Memories of my childhood date back to the time when I was a naughty little brute at 5 years old. I was both playful and observant. Whatever fancies me for the moment will keep me euphoric and occupied for the time being until another chapter unfolds in my young life.

I was very stubborn and headstrong, which was, perhaps, why my mother always preferred me to be away in my great grandmother’s big house than to be in her rearing. I hated to be taken away from our house and from the neighborhood where I could enjoy a normal childhood with the other kids in the community. But, it is not fair to say that I did not like to be at my great grandmother’s place. I liked being with her. She loved me like her own daughters. She had three of them, the eldest of which is the mother of my mother.

Great Grandmother always gave me what I wanted. She spoiled me with attention more than I can ever ask for in my lifetime. But her life was too short to fill up the rest of the remaining years in my childhood. That was why I cried too much after she had gone. I would have been there during her last breath if my mother didn’t keep me from seeing her for the last time.

The day before her death she has made me promise that I will come and see her the next day. The next day I argued with my mom that I promised Lola to be there that day. Mom said that I should stay home because I have stayed vigil at the hospital room for many days since Lola had been confined. She said I also needed to rest. I was still a child and it wasn’t wise to invest my health as well especially since I had been diagnosed for bronco pneumonia. My mother knew what’s best for me, what she didn’t know was how important it was to me that I saw my great grandmother that day.

The day my Great Grandmother died, my mother assured me that even though I missed out on taking care of Lola for a few days at the hospital, Lola would be just fine. But it was on that same day that she was taken back to our house, inside a coffin.

I could barely step up and see her inside that wooden box. Her youngest daughter with whom I was accustomed to call my second mother lifted me up to see her lifeless face…. for the last time.

I ran away from the crowd. I bumped into my mom at the backdoor who was very apologetic and who told me it was only for the best.

I told her, “ You see, Mommy, she wanted me to be there on her last day. If you had allowed me I would have been able to say goodbye to her personally. I wanted to tell her how much I loved her.” And I ran off to my cousin’s house where I crawled inside my huge t-shirt and cried.

“Death is but a bridge to cross;

Where you have walked so shall we pass.”

For as long as I can remember, I had a wonderful childhood. Since the passing away of my great grandmother I was then taken to my father’s parents. They were an adorable pair of grandparents. In this time, my younger brother used to tag along. We used to ride with my Dad to the grandparents’ house and in the afternoons Dad passes by again to take us back home with him.

At the grandparents’ house we could play all day at the rice fields, go hunting for birds in the forest; play with the other kids in the neighborhood and nap in the afternoons.

Everyday Grandmother would prepare sumptuous meals for us. In between we would tag along with Grandpa and watch him while he works on his huge vegetable garden in the fields.

My childhood. Ah! What a sweet memory!

It was this certain time in my life when I used to think that America was just on the other side of the downtown. My concrete idea about the Americans at the time was about them being a breed of taller and bigger people than the Filipinos. I had myself convinced that Filipinos and Americans are the only people in this world.

I guess this goes to say that when you are a child, you are entitled to your innocence and naivete. I miss my childhood. No conflicts of the world to think of, no worries to be anxious about. But it was inevitable that I grew up from my world of candies and lollipops and never-ending reruns of the Looney Tunes show. Growing up was scary. And where have you been all my life, Peter Pan?

And yes, fairytales! I’ve had my share of the Prince Charming stories. I fancied at stories of Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Rapunzel and Snow White, and marveled at the enchantments of their lives. This was a time in my life when my mother would have wanted our hair cut short always and I would tell my elder sister how much I hated the short curled hair on my head.

So then I would wrap my head with my Dad’s blue towel, pretend that it was to be my hair, put on some of my mother’s face powder all over my face and dance around in my elder sister’s nightgown feeling as if I was a fairy tale princess. (You can laugh now if you want, or prepare to admit it ladies!)

I also enjoyed stories about mermaids and fairies and yes I do believe in them.

My childhood was more than the little things. It was the best part of my life. It is a time that I would always love to go back to when the time comes.

So I grew up, still stubborn and headstrong. Somehow I managed to put on some height and weight, changed facial features, grew my voice to a deeper and firmer tone, and aged like everyone else. But there will always be a child in me. What really matters now is that I am able to carry on with the affairs of my older life without being too hesitant.

 © Theren Alexander 2005