I don't quite remember when i came to be what i am. There were some missing years in my past that i pretended so hard to remember that i beat myself up even more for and still keep failing. And neither those old smudged photos, nor my younger blood could ever fill me in much.
I guess if i were a book, my earlier pages would have been a number of kinda...blank ones. They were not possibly skipped but they did seem to pass me by and i just never knew them. I wish i remember how fun it was waking up every morning and going to school or playing with friends if it was a weekend. I wish i remember how often i got to go shopping for toys or colouring books with Ummi and Abah. I wish i remember learning how to cook from Ummi maybe. I wish i remember how exciting it must have been if Abah ever took me out on his bicycle ride. I wish i remember when there weren't so many of us.
Selfishly, i wish i remember just me.
But i don't.
I remember the amount if laundry i had to do. I remember cooking for my siblings when Ummi was yet giving birth to another. I remember washing dishes in the small bathroom sitting on a stool because squatting was just too painful. And i remember more laundry, and more cooking and more washing dishes.
I remember very little. I remember that was all.
But i knew that was all i knew. I knew my siblings were my life. I knew i was darn good at house chores. I knew i was proud doing what i did. I knew i never complained.
And i knew i was never, never angry.
Not until now.
Because somehow, though i remember what made me, i don't remember me.