Memory

Often I wonder if my life will ever top my first 9 years. Growing up where I’m from, the way I grew up, was the culmination of experience. Sometimes I wonder, in a non-conceited way, if I have more memories than other people. I grew up in a different country and therefore a different school, a different neighborhood, and a different community. I could write eons upon eons about my experiences. It seems like I lived there way longer than 9 years. I can explicitly remember my schools: the preschool/kindergarten and then Lion’s Primary School. I left school at lunchtime and then was home-schooled until late afternoon. What I remember most, though, were the people. Take a couple of back roads off the one that runs by the hospital and there was my neighborhood with its identical houses protected by an army of speed bumps and ditches. Every day after school I played soccer with the kids in the central park. They were friendly kids who spoke English alongside a multitude of other languages. Occasionally we played basketball on the makeshift court in my driveway. I had many pets: a dog, several cats, some chickens and rabbits, and a couple of goats. I wouldn’t have traded the experiences for anything, even though my life may have reached its climax. I feel that this is the story of my life, more than anything I’ve ever done and probably more than anything I’ll ever do.