Childhood Memories
Saturday, March 5th, 2005 @ 23:02
Tags: memories
I was on the train home this evening from Bugis when I happened to overhear three teenages discussing about their first childhood memory.
One of them was rather stumped at this topic as he did not seem to recall any of his own. His friend was rather amazed that the poor guy could not remember his first childhood memory. His friend went on to say, “Do you remember how’s it like when you’re one? That could be your first memory. How about when you were five? That could be one too. How about when you’re in sec one? If you can remember, that could be your first childhood memory.”
I soon lost track of their conversation as they wore on. As I looked at the scenery whizzing past me, I began to recall my first memory.
I hate to admit it, but I was stumped, too.
Most of my childhood memories could be recalled because there were pictures to help. For example, whenever I flip through my baby photo album, I will look at them with a wistful smile on my face and say:
“I remember the times I played with Guang Yang Kor and Eileen Jie on the path outside their house where any speeding bikes could roll us flat in two ticks”
or,
“That’s cousin Abel playing with me at my first birthday party”
or,
“I remember playing with that red phone thinking I could call Mom telling her that I’m at Nai Nai’s place when she’s just right behind me”
or even
“I remember playing with them thinking they’re my distant cousins when I found out (many, many years later) that they were total strangers”
and maybe, perhaps
“That’s the time Mom and Dad celebrated my second birthday in Malaysia with the whole church at a family camp and they carried the cake all the way from Singapore!”
So actually, most of my memories are brought back with tangible proof. However, there is a particular memory that struck me since I was on a train and it was train-related.
There was this time when my youngest sister was just an infant and my parents decided to bring my siblings and I on an outing using the public transport instead of Dad driving us around in the car.
I don’t remember where we went or how that outing went. What I do remember was that on our journey back at the train station, the approaching train was coming to a stop and my younger brother, my younger sister and I were rather excited as there were empty seats available. I still recalled in my childish way that there was a whole row of empty seats—plenty for my whole family of six! Well, five, since my baby sister had her comfortable pram to sleep in.
As the train doors opened, we—the three excited kids—scrambled onto the train, bagging the row of empty seats hoping no one else would take them away and calling out to our parents, urging them to hurry lest some stranger would promptly plop onto one of the empty seats.
In our childish excitement, we were totally oblivious to the fact that my parents were having some minor difficulties trying to push my baby sister—who was in the pram—into the train.
Before we knew what was happening, a beeping noise sounded, a warning to all passengers that the train doors were about to close. Before we could turn to look at the doors, the train doors closed with a whoosh! And before we could even call out “Mummy!” the train started pulling away, leaving my parents and my baby sister behind.
Till this day, I do not know how my siblings felt but I saw fear in their faces. As the eldest, I knew it was my duty to protect them. I tried to look brave and took their hands in mine, assuring them that everything would be okay, that everything would be fine, and burying my fear so deep that I forgot that I myself was as scared as them.
In case you didn’t know, I was only eight at that time, which makes my brother and sister five and three respectively. I personally think that I had the right to be scared at that point of time, given the circumstances.
I vaguely remembered this kind passenger who talked to us in a comforting way, saying that we’ll find our parents at the next stop. We stopped at the next station and for the next six minutes (or so) of my life, it seemed like time came to a slow crawl.
We just sat on the marble seats and waited. And waited. And waited.
And waited.
Finally, the next train pulled up and we saw our parents’ anxious faces through the glass windows. We ran towards them as soon as the train doors opened, reuniting our family.
I remember feeling proud. Not a single one of us had shed a tear. And for an eight-year-old, I guess I handled the whole situation rather calmly.
This childhood memory had no photographs to remember by.
Only the trains.
which is bad… i guess this is why i keep so many journals. i know i’m not going to remember… -.-
. aww brings back so much! Such amazingly cute pictures
wow, nice site you have here. i am liking wordpress even though i am still getting used to it. how long have you been using it? how do you like it?