Note to new readers: This post is part of my 30 Days of Writing Practice. I am allowing blocks of 10, 20 or 30 minutes of my day solely to putting my swirling thoughts on paper. No going back to edit which will only serve to stop the stream of consciousness. My writing buddy Kat and I (Wruddy for short), we call it writing from the heart. Please read my introduction for the full story.
I wrote about my friend, Luka (not her real name) in Day 13, but she has not read the post. So I prompted her. I went, “If you don’t have time to follow my 30 Days, please read Day 13 at least.” Hey, I am persistent like that to people whom I know love me unconditionally. That is, to them, I can do no wrong. Total acceptance. My quirks, kakulitin, warts and all. Luka did find the time to read Day 13 and a few more Days too. She Whatsapped me yesterday and requested, yes requested, a topic. If I could please write about growing up. Something from when I was 6-7 years old because she wanted to know the little Charina. Also the teenaged Charina. Wow, I say. Those stories will only be available when I write my autobiography. Not just a day here and a day there, like what I am doing now. But I will humor her.
So, for the friend whom I will call first if I had to “move a body”, this one’s for you. (I wonder how long it will take before she reads this.)
9. What is your first memory? – Natalie Goldberg, Writing Down the Bones
My earliest memory was when my Papa Samuel Revelo gave me a present for my birthday. I cannot recall my age at that time. Maybe I was 3 years old. I am an only child. My mum had a second baby two years younger than I was but she died. Her name was Lourdes. Lourdes died a few hours after she was born. They said she was a blue baby. I remember looking at her baby photos (yes she had baby photos) and I thought, “She doesn’t look blue at all”. I didn’t understand why they called her a blue baby!
So anyway, for my third birthday, my Papa Samuel gave me a walking doll. It seemed very huge to me. Perhaps as tall as I was. Big fat chubby cheeks with flowing golden hair. Papa carefully held the doll upright, turned something behind it and the doll started walking towards me. I screamed. I was frightened. Horrified. The thing walked! I cried very hard. My Papa had to take the doll away. What he did with it I have no idea. I never played with dolls from then on. Never. I was traumatized. I preferred to play boy games. My cousins were mostly boys whom I played Indians and cowboys with. We had paper guns and had war games on the street. I did still play “bahay-bahayan” with my favourite girl cousin, Malou. But I don’t remember playing dolls with her. All I remember was playing with plastic fork, spoon and knives and using tin cans to cook pretend food in. I also remember going to the nearest water canal to catch some fish. Or maybe I just watch the small fish swim by because they were fascinating.
I am secretly thankful I do not have a daughter. For how could I play dolls with her?! I just don’t like them “purrty” things!
Come back again tomorrow?
All the best,
ChaR-g
I leave you with Sinead O’Connor’s “Nothing Compares To You“. I was obsessed with this song at its height in 1990.
senga says
Oh hahaha I always like childhood stories, you would like to know mine hehe I had dolls but they were very small ones and probably looked so bad after playing them and they just got lost. There were also those dolls gifts from my father’s company and I wonder what happened to them. Sometimes I wish I kept them so I could at look at them these days. I remember more often too playing bahay-bahayan more, fishing too pero tilapia rah hehe, climbing lots of fruit trees, siatong, bato-lata wa ka nagdua ana…