My earliest recollection of anything was when I was four. I was lying sideways at the old and dusty Persian carpet in our living room, crying. It was late at night and my dad hasn't come home yet. I vaguely remember now if he ever did. The next scene, as if fast forwarded from a VCR happened a few months later. A big moving-truck stood in front of our house in San Pedro, Laguna, my childhood's first of many houses. Mom eventually left my dad, taking all three children with her to another town. We rented a small apartment in Malinta where we stayed for a little over a month, which to me at that time, felt like forever. Then I had my first plane trip to Virac, Catanduanes, my mother's province, where we would stay for more than two years. By the time I was 13, I've been to six different schools and seven different houses. My younger brother and I juggled between mom's and dad's turf, who already had a new family with my stepmom and my half sister. We were like tennis balls being tossed from one side to another each summer. A new student almost every year, I somehow succeeded in acquiring a best friend in every school, so it was always sad when it was time to say good bye. Somehow, I had the idea that I was smart, but I always failed to make it to honor roll, because new students dont usually count. I took home medals in quiz bees and writing contests instead.
When I was nine, I bought a world map for our history class. It was the first time I fell in love with anything. I couldnt put it down, and after a few weeks, I had already memorized all the countries and their capital cities. The year was 1992, and if you ask me, I also knew the presidents in almost all countries during that year: Najibullah of Afghanistan, Sali Berisha of Albania etc...
To be cont'd
