Mishaps at Nineteen

To publish a self-made book is my greatest fantasy. Yet, I usually end up starting and not being able to finish one. One of the writeups I dare started was "Mishaps and Nineteen." Well, here is a prologue. That's all I got. It's a sort of young-adult fiction. The characters are supposed to have powers and stuff. 

PROLOGUE

Everything’s clear to me as if I were there. Well, of course I was there. I mean, the turn of events is clear as if I could remember everything, as if I was not a baby back then.

I was once a part of a happy family, a family equally rich as well. I have a hardworking father for a dad and a loving all-around mother for a mom. My sister was acquiring the positive traits of my mom, and my brothers, quarrelsome as their age’s conventions, were proud adventurous youngsters. I also have my aunt, my dad’s sister, who was close to every one of the kids, including me, of course. There are times, a lot of them, when I would rather sleep with her that with my mom, which goes to show how much I love her in parallel.

Yes, my family was happy, as what my aunt would tell me now that I am a grown-up. In fact, there are a lot of things to tell about it.

While my dad was working in Russia as a chef, we lived with my father-side grandparents. They were sort of rich people. We, their grandchildren, were the luckiest ones. Grandparents love grandchildren more than their children; so, everything boiled down to us having all the favor. We get all the toys we wanted—a gigantic Barbie dollhouse and all the Barbie accessories for my sister Chloe; Power Ranger robots and all the upgrades for my brother Shannon; the same models and upgrades for his twin Gannon, or else they would fight over not having equal toys; and rattles, squishy balls, and all the toddler stuffs for me, none of which I could remember. Yes, we were rich kids back then.

On Saturdays, we used to go malling with the whole family. My mom, my siblings, and my aunt do this weekly routine. On a few times, Grandpa and Grandma went with us. On other occasions, they stayed at home, enjoying their rest after the week’s workload. I can’t remember anything about it either. My aunt just tells me that I was just being carried by my mom, while they all enjoy everything they see in the mall.

On Sundays, we had a feast for lunch. There were roasted chicken, grilled pork, and even Sinigang, one of the all-time Filipino favorites. Well, again I couldn’t remember. All I had was a bottle of milk and anything else I could chew.

We grew with that kind of life. We thought it wouldn’t end at all. We thought we were all destined to live that way. We thought it was all about destiny and living with it.