Memories

Memories. They are what we are made of, and what defines us. We are made up of our memories, and we are shaped by them. A person's personality isn't fixed at birth, but rather it is shaped by his interactions with his surroundings. Live a life of luxury and hardship is incomprehensible. Live a life of poverty and hardship isn't really hardship anymore -- it is just 家常便饭.

We are who we are because of the people around us. My friends, you are who you are because of me. And I am who I am because of you.

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My earliest memory of my life was most definitely on my first birthday. The first birthday that a kid has, is always a big thing, and I think, it is the first of 3 birthday cakes that I have ever had in my entire life (kudos to the guys and gals in Duke for the 3rd one). And yes, the relatives came down, after all, as I said, it was a pretty big thing right? And there I still remember it, I was at the height of everyone's knees, and looking up at all the people in the house. And I was crying. This was what everyone remembered, me crying on my first birthday, probably frightened by all the noise in the house, and mom said I was hiding half under the bed, with my head under the bed and my diaper-cushion butt outside, for all to see. I didn't remember hiding under (or half-under, as they say) the bed, but I do remember running into the bedroom, and when I came out again under mom's coaxing, I remember my 2nd uncle laughing and saying that I was silly for crying on such a happy occasion. And my reason for crying? It certainly wasn't because I was frightened by the appearance of so many people. Rather, I was moved that so many people came down. Even then I didn't tell them the real reason why I cried (I could speak since I was 8 months old), because I was embarressed. And now, nobody would believe that a one-year-old kid could feel that way.

But apparently, even a one-year-old can feel embarressment.

I remember too, when I was 5 or so, I was crossing the road with mom holding my hand, and I was holding a jelly in my free hand. You know, the kind of jelly that comes in a packet of like 20, with some green , some red and some yellow ones, and you have to be careful peeling the plastic off the top if not you will squirt sugar water all over the front of your shirt. Anyway, I dropped the jelly on the road and I wanted to go back for it. But mom said it was too dangerous and she pulled me safely to the other side of the road. That could have been the end of the matter, mother and son on the other side of the road, and said jelly on the road waiting to be crushed by the tires of oncoming traffic. But no, mom went back for the jelly, weaving through traffic like a fragile doll that could have been crushed any moment by the vehicles. The jelly was saved from certain death, and a happy ending to the story. A mother's love for her son, no matter how ill-expressed, will always be there.

Another little incident down memory lane, was being a spoilt brat. Yelling and whining because I saw this awesome toy in the econ-minimart across the road and next to the barber store. It was a little racetrack complete with little cars, battery and remote operated. And it cost an equally awesome $50 too. A small amount to some, but it was a really big sum in those day, money that could have brought food to the dinner table for an entire week. Mom was totally against buying it, but dad without saying anything simply pointed to the storekeeper and asked for a plastic bag. It didn't really work well too, and was ignored after a week. $50 for a week's worth of not so fun enjoyment and guilt. And probably another 2 weeks of dad buying just porridge for lunch. But who knew these things when you were 6?

Memories.