Well, since I've been tasked with writing about my first memory, a memory all the way back into the past that I can barely remember it, and even if I do, it's probably contaminated memory... I might as well start writing all about it right here.
First of First Memories
First thing that comes to mind was a time when I was watching my brother and sister play with some steel ball bearings, during my pre-kindergarden days. Who knows how they came upon them, but nonetheless they were playing with them quite ecstatically, as if they were marbles. And there I was watching off the side, watching their game of marbles with steel ball bearings. Being a child, anything that was round was immediately fascinating, and if it was shiny, it was absolutely captivating. So I watched my siblings playing with the ball bearings, all the while enraptured by its beauty. Then I thought to myself, "These things would look great in one of my toys."
The toy to which I was refering to was nothing more than a board with a rectangle cavity in it with two turrets on opposite ends. The turrets would launch balls in the bid to destroy the targets belonging to the opposing turret. Incidentally, these ball bearings that I was observing had about the same size of the balls that this game requires.
So, without regard and consent from my siblings, I grabbed a handful of these ball bearings without consent, ran away and stuffed them into this board of my and started to play it. Now, you're probably asking, "Wouldn't your siblings have had come down right after you after that and have a few words with you?" My answer to that is: Oh yes, they did. And boy DID they have some 'words' for me. Packaged with extra volume and smacking.
All the commotion served to alert my Mom that something had happened, and she reacted in the usual manner with us, dictatorially and ruthlessly. Any dispute that occured in the house, particularly among the siblings, in which nobody's innocence could be ascertained, immediately earned every child a caning, even the ones that had nothing to do with the dispute, every so often would my sister remind me of, cause often I was the reason for the commotion.
Mind you, we were all very young, I was about 3-4 years young, and my sister and brother was 3 and 5 years older than me respectively, so I reckon it was normal for us to do weird stuff and fight. And all that indescriminate caning from Mom? Well, we turned out all right... It's the rest of the world that's weird.
Second of First Memories
When I had my first asthma attack, I wasn't conscious. Imagine, falling asleep, curled up in your bed, dreaming sweet dreams, in the fotress that was my blanket, under the pillars that made my brother's bed suspend above me, and all the cares of the world left behind the walls of the eyelids, and not knowing how to whistle.
Then, an awakening. The world had become white. The walls, the ceiling, the lights, the bed, the blanket... it had all become white. And I could whistle. Isn't that odd, to awaken from your deep slumber, and find that you can whistle. But there was more than that... I wasn't actually trying to whistle. And the sound was coming from my throat, not my lips. It seemed nice to be able to whistle, but whistling was difficult, and I was having a hard time breathing. I didn't want to whistle anymore. I had desired to be able to whistle before, but now I didn't want to. I had tried to stop, tried so hard I did. But I couldn't. Then before I could start to panic, Mom loomed over me. Relief set in me, cause Mom always had the all answers... Mom could do anything. I relaxed as much as I could and mustering up all the courage within me, compelled within not to show any fear, asked, "Why am I not in my room? Where am I?"
She then told me I had an asthma attack.
Mom and Dad from the room heard a wheezing,
from their youngest of three gone asleeping,
Picked me up they did while I slumber,
Moved me and drove me did they wonder,
What have you picked up while conscious asunder?
That sends us both chills down our spines all over.
At the hospital stop they did with a skid,
Observe and diagnose me the doctors did,
Find out they did, the disease I had,
'Asthma,' they said, 'and it's kind of bad'
For days I stayed in the hospital, and I remember moment of time where I threw up after mashed potatoes. From then on I was on porridge, much to my dissappointment. But since then, I had found the play room, which was much fun and had toys aplenty. So my stay in the hospital had not been so bad.
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