It feels strange that when I try to remember most of how my childhood

happened, one memory always pops up like a prologue to a blockbuster film: a

childhood friend getting half of his leg stuck in a sidewalk drainage.
As I grew up, I never really understood why of all the happiest moments I
had during my childhood, that one particular memory always stood out. It is clear
that we forget more and more of our childhood as we age. For me to retain that
around 7 years old I was eating different kinds of flower petals around the
neighbourhood is not uncommon. As research prove, most adults cannot remember
much before 5-7 years of age (Gammon, Kate). But I think I remembered the leg-
stuck-in-a-drainage memory because it was very happy. Research shows that
memories are more likely to stay if they are linked with strong emotions.
That one particular moment in the summer of 2007, I skipped my mandatory
siesta (imposed by mom) and sneaked outside to play with the older kids in the
area. Each day we play different games and that day, it was decided to be softball.
This kid, ‘Jan-jan’ as we call him, became so desperate of avoiding the ball that he
decided to completely swerve off its direction and that resulted in him diving foot-
first in the soft, premature, and silk-black-looking muddy canal. The look in his
face as he furiously struggled to pull out his leg made the kids and I erupt in a
sarcastic celebration and uncontrollable laughter. Thinking about it now, I realize
how silly it was to be that knee-deep in such a shallow-looking canal.
Now why are our childhood memories important? Not only are they
novelties, but I think they are illustrative of who we are. I consider myself a
generally positive person, and the prologue to my blockbuster childhood was ‘off-
the-charts’ amazing. In my opinion, how we remember our childhood can be a key
to knowing who we are at the moment. Countless people will tell you that the
events that happened in their childhood affected them for the rest of their lives.
These imprints on their lives are so significant and often out of their control.
I’m not saying my childhood was pristine because to tell you the truth, I can
still remember that one time when my mother scolded me so hard for shouting “I
love you Ryan!” repeatedly in my neighbor’s rooftop for I believed that Ryan (my
questionable first love), who lived in the opposite subdivision, would hear it
(which is not entirely impossible since only a one-hectare rice field separated us).
What I am trying to imply is, since our earliest memories occurred at a vulnerable
time of growth and immaturity, we should not treat them as “just-those-kind-of
memories”. Similar to how a caterpillar metamorphosize into a butterfly, they are
what shapes us to the person we are today.