Ah, a new year—the feeling that you could achieve so much, the optimism that comes with it. It's 2007, and I'm three years old now. I had to change schools again, this time to one even closer to home because, although the previous school was nearby, it still cost my mom too much time to take me there and bring me back.
Living in this new phase of life taught me quite a lot. First, I learned how hardworking my mom was. While I was in school, she sold moi moi to make ends meet. Even though my aunt graciously let us stay at her place, my mom refused to be a burden, even to her own sister. It was one of the many things I admired about her—her relentless determination and resilience.
Second, I realized something about our new neighbors: they were fine. I mean, they were the kind of people that would make any girl turn her head and whistle. But that's where it ended—they had zero interest in me. To them, I was just the landlady's kid, nothing more.
I did have one friend at the time, Rita. Her family lived in the house next door. I think it was around this period that I got my first kiss… or was that two years later? Thinking about Rita now, I wonder why I even crushed on her back then. She seems so childish now. Like everyone else my age, I treated her like a little sister.
When the new school term started, I began attending Blessed Kids Academy. It was much bigger and more beautiful than my previous school. Looking back, I can truly appreciate how well-designed and organized it was.
They taught everything, including music with a variety of instruments. In fact, they were so proud of their music lessons that the first thing you'd hear upon entering the gate was the sweet melody created by the music students. It was enchanting and helped put my mind at ease.
As always, my mom handled everything—paying the school fees and getting me set up for a fresh start. However, she became even busier, so the association of moms in our estate hired a driver to pick up and drop off their kids, including me. It was through this arrangement that I made my first set of real friends in my childhood.
One memorable incident happened during one of our rides. As we passed several mannequins on the road, the boys in the vehicle started pointing at random ones and shouting, "That's your wife!" It was all jokes, and everyone laughed. Halfway through the ride, most of the teasing died down—except for one really dark-skinned boy. I've forgotten his name now, but for some reason, he just kept poking at me, determined to annoy me.
In retaliation, I threatened him with my metal water bottle. Just as I was trying to scare him off, the vehicle hit a pothole, causing a sudden jolt.
Bonk.
The sound of metal hitting a hard surface echoed.
"Ahh, my head!" he cried out, clutching his face.
I froze, realizing what had just happened. My mind raced as I tried to come up with a way to escape the consequences. I begged him not to tell his mom, but of course, he did.
By the time I got home, I had already moved on to Plan B. Looking back, I can't believe it worked, but considering we were kids, it's not that surprising.
Ten minutes after getting home, the boy's mom showed up with him. After a brief discussion with my mom, I was summoned.
"Edwin, come here!" my mom called.
I walked in nervously. "Good evening, ma," I greeted his mother.
"Evening, Edwin. How are you?" she replied.
"I'm fine, ma," I answered, trying to steady my voice.
Tension filled the air. My heart pounded in my chest.
"What happened between you and this boy?" my mom asked.
I took a deep breath and started explaining. I told them about how he called the mannequins my wives, conveniently skipping the part where I did the same thing to him. I painted myself as the victim and concluded with, "The bottle wasn't meant to hit his face; it was a mistake because of the bad road."
Before the boy could say a word, his mom slapped him. "Shut up!" she barked. Watching him clutch his face—already swollen from the bottle—and now receiving more slaps, I felt a mix of pity and amusement.
My mom tried to calm her down, saying, "Take it easy, ma. He's just a child."
That day, I may have created a villain, but it was either him or me, and I wasn't about to take the fall.
I can't remember what happened after that. Did he forgive me? Were we cool again? Honestly, I don't know.
The next two and a half years at Blessed Kids Academy were fun. The only reason we left was because the school management raised the fees beyond what we could afford.
During that time, I also gained a little sister, Luna. On the eighth of August, my mom gave birth to a healthy, bouncing baby girl. Just like that, all the attention shifted from me to her. Back then, I felt a twinge of jealousy, but now I think she deserved it.
Luna looked up to me like I was her hero, always calling me "Big Bro" and trying to follow in my footsteps. But instead of cherishing that, I pushed her away. This time, things will be different. Unlike before, I'll be her protector—her knight, her guard, her sword.
Life moved on. Luna eventually joined me at school, but things got tougher financially. After completing my first term in Primary 1, we couldn't afford the fees anymore. I missed the entire second term and was sent to the village to stay.
That's where my father was waiting for us. Little did we know, the sight that awaited us there would leave us utterly shocked.