The years have flowed swiftly. In a blink, where had all of them
gone? I cannot touch nor feel
them. All of them are lost in the
fortress of my mind's eye; yet even as
its Lord and Master, I cannot enter without its keys. Fortunately, unlike most, I do possess the keys: my diaries, formerly handwritten but nowadays,
in electronic form with the capability of storing
photos and videos together to aid in triggering the opening of this vault of the eons. Again I can take a nostalgic stroll amidst the dusty corridors and relive the past.
Only once in my childhood did I receive a present from a certain aunt for my birthday. In the end, it was just a farce; in that my
cousin and I shared the same blessed day and nothing more. At the same time, deep down in my heart, I
knew that it was a gift not out of love.
It was just an extra present; a toy car that my cousin didn't want. When I opened the box, I knew the reason
exactly; for I had been hearing him earlier in the week about what a crappy car
his birthday present was going to be. As
if to verify my suspicion, no longer was there any birthday present came from
this particular aunt after this fiasco.
My next round of birthday presents came when I turned twenty-one. Sure, there were many. That was because my mother wanted to make a
big fuss for this turned-into-an-adult ritual.
However, cynically, once more my deadened heart told me that these were
not true gifts for me but as gifts of display for the eyes of my parents throwing
this lavish party. It was more of their
party than mine; for the majority invited were their friends and cohorts. Only five came; two friends and three sisters
of one of them. What I truly wanted, did
not materialize. Oh well, it mattered not now, like waters flowing under the
bridge, it is far into the mists of
time.
My family was never into birthday presents. They claim times were hard and that a
birthday cake and a photo of remembrance at the photographer's shop were good
enough. So never did I expect any but was envious to see others with such
presents when invited to their parties.
I was once invited to a party because a friend took me to this unknown
birthday boy. It was at a grand house. To this day, in my mindscape, I see that huge
fountain in front of the main entrance.
How jealous I felt to see ice cream being served and a cartoon reel
being played out for the children even though I was entering my teen years. Though our place was not small at all
compared to this one; could be even bigger but its display of wealth was on a
grander scale.
To be fair, there were two real presents in my life. Both were Christmas gifts. One was an electric train set that ran on
real electricity. On the brochure was a
picture of the train engine billowing out real smoke. I knew this was true because inside the set was
a bottle of a viscous looking yellow liquid which I had determined to be some
kind of oil. I was very excited. However,
mother told me that I was too young to play with it because of her concern of
the train need the electric mains to operate.
She promised that I could play with it when I am older. I understood her concern. She placed the set at the bottom of her large
bedroom armoire, safely tucked under other heavy boxes.
Each time, when she was out, I would surreptitiously creep
into her room to lift up the red cover of the set with other boxes still on top
of it. There I would smuggle out the
rails and read the booklet lovingly. Joy
and imagined excitement filled my mind as I lambently touched the parts. After playing, I would carefully replace
everything back. I knew mother was not a
stupid woman. After all, I was her son!
Then one day came, around twelve or so, when I declared that
I was old enough to handle my true and secret love of so many years. She acquiesced. Upon opening the box, I was horrified to see where
the oil bottle was used to be was now an empty spot! The rails were there but not the train engine
nor the boxcars. Even so, as I started
to set up the rails, there were parts missing!
I had been conned! Now I realized
that the set was not just only one box.
The booklet had shown a much larger toy.
I demanded the truth. Finally she
told me that she had given most of the set away. She thought it was too dangerous for me to
play with real electricity! Battery ones
were okay. I was furious but held my rage; after all she had her own reason and
I was her only son. All these years, some lucky kid somewhere in the world was
playing with my train set with real smoke billowing out of its chimney.
Needless to say, my world fell apart. I swore that I will get my own real train set
with my own money. Of course, this never
happened… I grew up and trains no longer
fascinated me as it had once. Its
magical spell had been broken and I was no longer entranced. This taught me a lesson - never to trust
anyone; even one's own parents.
Everything had to be verified.
Thus this incident changed me forever; an indelible mark had been
engravened upon me to which I would be carrying it into my grave. Never a naïve
person I shall be anymore. Thus you can
say my very own mother had stolen my innocence.
Finally, there was the chemistry set a family friend had
given me for Christmas. There was real
fire involved to heat, to boil all those exotic colored looking materials and
things my parents don't even understand due to their lack of higher education. Again mother wanted to have a hand in here. This time, I did not budge at all. All I said accusingly was, "Are you also
going to steal my presents and give them away like you did to my train
set?" Yes, I had learnt the art of fencing with words. Indeed, this stopped her cold. As an expert sword woman whom she was, there
was a dramatic pause and decided aloud to all who could hear - that it is also
an educational toy to which my studies would benefit immensely. Mother was a wise woman, knowing when to
attack and when to retreat. This gift
changed my entire life. With the
greatest curiousity, I forayed into this new secret world; being unbeknownst to
all my peers - the realm of chemistry. I
excelled. My insatiable thirst for its arcane-like magic led me to the real
books of knowledge and power. I spent all my pocket money on chemicals and
apparatus. In a tiny room built as my laboratory, I would spend many hours of
joy and wonderment practising my magical arts in there. Peace reigned. My parents were pleased with my school grades
and all those who used the kitchen, meant that there are no more foul smelling
stuff and good riddance to my dabbling. I
pity all those born after 9/11…
I was especially proud of all my science classes except
biology. Practical examinations was a
cinch for me, I knew my chemicals well.
I fondly remembered that during one such important chemical analysis
exam, the lab assistant did not mix the chemicals well. From the pale chalk teal color and texture, I
knew what it was - copper sulphate. The
rest in the mixture were duds. Knowing the shortcuts (one drop of water will
turn it into a deep and intense blue and while drying by a flame will return
back into its former color); I performed some non-standard schoolbook text
procedures to verify my hunch. My
suspicion was confirmed. Of course,
giving out such secrets was a no-no. So
I wrote in the paper the standard but more laborious procedure of testing. Still
I had plenty of time to spare and skipped
school for the rest of the day going to a bookstore in search of more clandestine
books… Which schoolboy of that age would pass up the chance to look for ways to make
"bombs"?
I say, "Learn to work with the system until one gets to
the pinnacle of power and then ram one's way down their throats!" These are my life lessons. Yet those were the days of yore that I sorely
missed today. It was a different world
then and not beset by suspicion of being a terrorist anytime one is doing
something out of the ordinary. I am glad to be part of that time of world
innocence.
Whatever "presents" came was demanded by what I
wanted. Never were they given freely. I always have to pay for them in one way or
another. Another important life lesson. I envied those have such
"loving" parents. To be fair
again, my tastes tend to be on the rather expensive side. Why settle for less? In my teen years,
besides my love affair with chemistry, I too had another love - to be able to learn
how to play music. I once asked my
mother to let me have piano lessons. To
my surprise, she agreed. It was because the
in-thing to do and more of a status flouting display of their personal success
and what children of culture they have.
Then at the age of sixteen, I wanted an electric organ. So not only that I had to pass my GCE 'O'
Levels but good enough to remain in the prestigious school and to score better
than my cousin. In the end, luck smiled
upon me. I triumphed to be able to remain
in the same school and at the same secured my place in the elite classes of
science. My cousin did not make it and had
to depart for another less prestigious school.
From then onwards, such family rivalry ceased as there was nothing on
the same level to be compared and put an end to the bragging rights of the
older family members. It was an enormous
boulder rock heaved off from my back.
Another reason I opted for my further studies in the US rather than in
England - the mother country where all my other cousins went. Years later, they all came flocking here. However, the land is large enough for us
all. We don't have to see each other and
that the senior members of the family had died out. I regret to state that whatever love we
cousins have for each other are solely the fault of the older generation.
Perhaps I have mellowed a bit. Now, I feel like I am jaded and because of
hard work and a wise course my parents had charted out for me that I can simply
go out and buy things I desired.
However, time tempers everyone and changes every mind. Older but hopefully wiser, I feel the emptiness
in such kinds of spending spree. Whatever
I bought I could not remember except for those three gifts I had in my younger
days. If I do remember, it must something for the house and not for my very own. The magic in possessing thing had gone.
However, this year, I felt like a child of yesterday once
more, a world of magic had being reopened for which I am eagerly waiting to enter
and spend my time there. My magic wand is
the pen I now wield. I write at my pleasure alone. This essay is a present for myself for it
will speak to me each time as I read it.
Since I am at it, why not extend even further and let my keyboard do the
notation of wiggly tadpoles on an electronic musical staff? A perfect gift for my ears as well? Yes, this
is going to be a unique gift; a gift born of being whom I am; and something
once created cannot be destroyed; perhaps forgotten but never its destruction.
This melody, I shall entitled it as Happy Birthday to Me to celebrate all my yesteryears of pain and
joy. Hopefully, some day I would be
talented enough to provide the lyrics.
For those who are interested… Here's the link:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AhfwVVKz56Y&feature=youtu.be
Friday, April 04, 2014
