I began my journey with a determined mindset, setting my sights on something bigger than what my current life offered. I wanted to be different, to understand and experience the world in ways that others couldn't. My first step? I buried myself in books. At first, they were simple and childlike—fairytales and picture books—nothing too complicated. But those were just the beginning. I devoured them quickly, moving on to more complex and educational materials. It wasn't long before I was pouring over textbooks meant for students far older than I was.
Luckily, my relatives were teachers, so I had access to their vast collection of books. I would borrow them, one after another, and they would often raise an eyebrow at my requests. "Why do you need these books, Melai? They're meant for students much older than you," they would ask, clearly puzzled by my eagerness. I always had an answer ready. "I'm going to read them, Aunt," I'd reply confidently.
"But, Melai," my aunt would say with a concerned look, "there aren't many pictures in these books. They're meant for studying, not playing."
"I will read them, Aunt. I'm not looking for pictures to play with," I would respond, my tone unwavering.
Aunt looked skeptical. "Can you even understand what's inside these books?" she asked, still unsure.
Without hesitation, I would answer, "Of course, Aunt. I can read. And I can understand them very well."
As I worked my way through book after book, I started noticing something extraordinary: my comprehension skills were soaring. What once felt difficult, now felt easy. I breezed through math concepts that had stumped me in my previous life. Trigonometry, for instance, which I had never fully understood in high school, now made sense to me. In my past life, I had barely scraped through the subject, but now, I could grasp it with ease. I had never studied Trigonometry before, but somehow, this new me could.
I was amazed at the changes happening within me. I realized something incredible: learning was no longer a struggle. It was like some hidden talent had awakened, and I couldn't quite explain why. Determined to test my newfound abilities, I decided to take on something completely different: learning the piano.
Now, I didn't have a piano at home, nor did any of my relatives, but the church had one. They used it for hymns and religious songs, but it was always just sitting there, unguarded. I had never learned to play any musical instrument in my past life. The closest I had come was playing the xylophone during my town's fiesta celebrations, a simple instrument, really. But I was curious. Could my sudden aptitude for learning extend to music?
I asked permission to try playing the church piano. The church officials were skeptical. They trusted me with so many things, but not with the piano. They assigned someone to watch me closely, likely afraid I might break something. At first, I only pressed the keys randomly, unsure of what I was doing. But after a few minutes, something incredible happened. Ideas began to form in my mind. I played a simple melody—a nursery rhyme, nothing impressive—but the fact that I could play it, on my own, without anyone teaching me? That was remarkable.
The person assigned to guard me, who had been watching me like a hawk, was stunned. "How did you do that?!" he exclaimed, eyes wide in disbelief. "Someone must have taught you, right? How could you learn that so fast without being a musical genius?"
I didn't have an immediate answer. I was just as shocked as he was. I hadn't expected it to happen. "I... I don't know," I stammered, still processing what had just occurred.
Before the guard could ask more questions, a voice interrupted us. "What's going on? Is the piano broken?" It was Father Christopher, the priest. The guard turned to him and, still awestruck, said, "No, Father. I was just surprised. She can play the piano."
Father Christopher turned to me with curiosity in his eyes. "Is that true, Carmela?" he asked gently.
I nodded, still trying to process everything. "Yes, Father. But I don't know how."
Father Christopher smiled warmly and said, "Try playing again, Carmela. Let's see what you can do."
Feeling both nervous and excited, I agreed and began playing the melody again. This time, it felt smoother, more natural. As I finished, I turned to Father Christopher to gauge his reaction. He was clearly taken aback, but after a moment, he regained his composure. "You truly can play the piano without any guidance. What do you call someone like that, if not a genius?" he said with awe.
I simply smiled, though I didn't consider myself a genius. I was just excited by what I had discovered. The news of my musical ability spread quickly throughout the town. People started asking me to learn religious songs and play during Mass. It felt strange, like I was put on display for everyone to see. At times, I felt like I was an exhibit in a zoo. But I accepted it. This was part of the process. I couldn't let anything stand in the way of my plan.
The more I showcased my talents, the more people noticed my potential. Some even speculated that I would become wealthy someday, or that I was destined for something great. While their enthusiasm was flattering, it also made me feel uneasy. But I pushed those feelings aside. I had bigger plans—plans that would allow me to skip ahead in my education, to avoid the years of schooling I didn't need.
But my plan didn't go as smoothly as I had hoped. My parents and teachers refused to let me skip grades. Their reasoning was simple: though I was gifted, I was still a child, and I deserved to enjoy my childhood, to make happy memories and experience the joys of youth. I understood their reasoning, but it was frustrating. In my mind, I didn't need to be treated like a child. Mentally, I was far beyond my years. But despite my protests, I had no choice but to accept their decision. After all, throwing a tantrum wouldn't get me anywhere.
Reluctantly, I accepted their stance, but I knew I needed a new plan. The future I envisioned was still within reach—I just had to be patient and find another way to get there.