I still remember those days wherein my right neon slipper always lost its mind and go over to my left foot all the times. How my cute-inky desk is often filled with story books and Abakada‟s all the way. And who could forget sucking in Stick-O, assumes as it is a postulate cigarette on my little mouth. It is fun to live in a world of manifold toys scattered around our small universe. Unlike today, our existence is perpetually facing a head-scratching stress and pressure.
Now, let us try to go back in time where we just learned to skip on counting. Let us ride on a sluggish timeline as it swallows our innocence in different swirls of dimension.
Let‟s be child again, momentarily.
I was four years old when I learned to read, write, and count. Through the endless loads of booklets trapped my desk, no doubt I learned. I can‟t forget what my mom used to tell me “Hindi ka makakapaglaro hangga’t hindi ka natututong mag-sulat..” It was horrible, I guess, knowing you can‟t play your lutu-lutuan or habulan until you finished something. So the deathless practice of writing A to Z and counting one to one hundred became my usual routine.
I entered pre-school level with the age of 5. I saw my classmates weeping their eyes radically as they sniff with their clogged nose. I wrinkled my forehead and leave a smirk. Why are they crying? Are we in a sitcom of soap opera so they scratched their reddish eyes in their distress and embrace their mother‟s leg ridiculously?
Our mind has goal to achieve a tattoo-like star that our teacher marked when we are said “very good” in the class. It was fun because besides of playing, you can also do sleeping, and sometimes the best idea is chatting like we are murmuring with our newly known words. I seldom use my pencil. And even if I get a chance to grab hold of it, I would only do things that technically insult its main purpose like poking my classmate or tapping my classmate‟s head.
In a very young age, I also get to experience to enter in guidance office. If you‟ll insist me asking why, well I just cut my classmate‟s long hair, invite my classmate in a boxing fight, and spit gluey saliva on a face of my bully classmate.
Majority of people never know I was bullied before. It may sound like a plot of an action movie, but I suffered before from skin allergy that created a scar, not only on my skin, but also in my heart. I‟d like to thank them; ironically, because of them I became stronger now. But the unwanted outcome arises when I grew up because today, I am afraid to take risks, as well as being hurt. I am afraid to face the crowd or to socialize broadly. It feels like it suffocates me hardly through my narrow throat back to my stomach. It‟s always a big deal for me to be embarrassed. Fear is a traitor. It consumes my ego. Maybe someday, it will turn fine.
Being stumbled and bruised, breaking glasses such varieties of breakable stuffs. “Children,” as they say. Time flies so fast like a snap of my fingers. Maybe some of us are easily annoyed when we encounter these different scenarios and we come not to know what meaning it conveys us. Coping up every day, we learned. Children learned what they live. The world is full of obstacles. Obstacles that taught us golden lessons that we can carry wherever we‟ll go.
Is it funny right? Today, like a child, we also fell from our feet to the ground. We get hurt, embarrassed, and offended. We might cried from our mothers and ask for help. I‟m just thankful „coz we are no longer sucking our pacifiers from our craving mouths. No fixation, I guess?
And the rest was history.