I was the little girl with a throbbing heart. I know they could not hear it, but my heart beats millions of a horse skip in the race track. The first time I got separated to my guardian, I thought I would stay in that place forever. I sat quitely behind my desk; the other kids have their mothers with them and I felt different that I had none. She left me for the market, she left me for a better life, she left and all I felt then was the unrecognizable melancholy of the tiniest soul. My heart kept throbbing as if it was about to burst out of my bossom. I remember cradling my chair, telling myself, like I tell myself now, that everything will be all right. I could see sympathy in her eyes; it did not let it bother me for if I did, I would have devastated their happy dispositions. Even then, I already knew what embarassment was and for some twisted reality, I did not want any of that, any of it... She told us to practice writing our name--"not outside of the lines, inside the lines," she said. My motor skills were unrefined; I wrote like our family dentist, with the slanted l's and the squiggly g's yet I've always wondered how he understood his when I could not comprehend mine. As days go by, spending my time in that little space with all the letters surrounding, danced to me like in Cartoon Network, my handwriting became more like a work of art for a 4 year old. Nobody was there to hold my hand and help me wrote my name. While the other children had tremendous help from their moms, I sat there with a throbbing heart, faced downward, concentrated on my pencil and lined paper. Although I cried my way home to my grandmother's house that hot day in June, I was happy I wrote my name without anyone's help.

Don't you wish achieving something so inadequate and making you deliriously happy was that easy again? Where is your inner child when you need it?

Photo Credit goes to me.

Labels: childhood, FICTION, inner euphoria, lost, nostalgia, unfictioned

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