EPTI used to be a very boisterous, active, curious, creative little kid. I would constantly run around the house, full of energy and things to say. I talked openly and freely with my grandparents, uncle, parents, and brothers. I explroed the world, eager to test my ideas, expend my enthusiasm, and express my creativity. I remember I used to invent games to play with my younger brother. As a little kid, I was very close to my younger brother. I loved him dearly, and constantly engaged him with activities and things to do. This was all at a very young age, before kindergarten.
At some point, I am not sure when, our family moved out of my grandparents and uncle’s house and into our own. I missed the attention of my grandparents, particularly my grandmother. I had a lot of interaction with her, and was probably her favourite grand child. Once we moved, I lost some of my outwardness and boisterousness.
My older brother, three years elder, treated his two younger siblings very cruelly. He was spoiled by our grandmother, and prone to act very selfishly. He would taunt us, say mean things, use physical aggression to maintain dominance, and bully us to get the things he wanted. He was particularly mean to my younger brother, and I would often defend him when confrontations began to heat up. I will never forget one example of my older brother’s selfishness: one time, when I was sitting down using the toilet, he came into the washroom and began to pee into the toilet, with me still using it. We were just kids, but that was disgusting in more ways than one.
When I was old enough to attend school, I would find my older brother at school and hang around him. He cruelly dismissed me and steered me away, mindful to keep me out of his circle of friends, as if I didn’t belong and was a hindrance. I became extremely shy at school. Soon, I refused to go to school, for some reason I don’t remember, but I had trouble feeling comfortable around other people. I only went if my grandmother accompanied me there. My uncle claims a kindergarten teacher recommended me to see a psychologist, though my parents deny this claim.
I remember, in one instance, I was taking karate lessons, when one of the kids in my class went up to someone to ask, “Can he talk?” referring to me. I was startled by this accusation, but in retrospect I suppose any communication he initiated with me was answered by mere head nods and shakes.
I loved my younger brother dearly, but he was just a little kid. Sometimes, we would get into disagreements. I was always astoundingly mature for my age and could hold back my anger. My little brother, however, was unable to share this restraint and would sometimes hit me. One time I remember he hit me very loudly on the back, witnessed by my mother, who immediately reprimanded him. However, even if the physical pain was mild, I was hurt much more deeply in my mind. This happened several times, and each time, I would vow vengeance by retracting all my affection for him. I would refuse to acknowledge him or give him any sign of respect. This treatment usually lasted for no longer than a day or two, but every time he hit me, and I held it in, the coldness just grew greater and greater. Eventually, we were no longer little kids, and I no longer played innocent games with him. Of course now we are all grown up, with more or less separate lives, and I cannot say I am particularly close to him, though I still love him.
In another memorable experience, I remember one of the three of us had done something bad, though exactly what I do not remember. She assembled us together as a sort of group interrogation to investigate who was the kid responsible. The experience was very uncomfortable – she was yelling at us, very upset and demanding a confession. I did not do it, nor knew who did. After what felt like to me an unbearable waste of time, I confessed to the act, even though I did not do it, believing that it would be easier to escape the current situation by taking the blame rather than waiting for one of the others to do it. I was hit by my mom, but knew her strikes were not serious and were merely gentle slaps on the bum. Later on, she asked me why I had done it, finding it unlikely I was the actual responsible one. I told her the truth, that I only did it to escape the situation. I think she began to cry, telling me never to admit to false guilt again.
That was our family dynamic. I became quieter and quieter as I grew up in the family. I learned to repress my expression in order to avoid ridicule from my older brother. My uncle reminded me, when I was slightly older, I still had some problems in wiping up completely clean after using the toilet. My older brother was taunt me relentlessly, claiming I had some sort of problem. My grandmother helped me to correct this difficulty, but by then I may have been already depressed.
Finally, when I was just in grade one or two or so, I remember playing in the sand pit at school. Either I was already playing in it, or I wanted to join in, but another kid came along and somehow kicked me out of my play area. I do not remember the exact details, but I do know I stepped away at a distance, stuck my middle finger up at them and cursed them in a quiet whisper. I hurt badly and could truly hate them. All these events happened probably when I was no older than 8.
What impacts did these experiences have on my current state? I’ll never know. But a child’s early development is highly malleable and affects their ultimate growth. Now I am still super quiet, shy, self conscious and unexpressive.
Sure, plenty of children have had much harsher struggles with an unpleasant childhood. Many will feel I am too spoiled myself, that I should be grateful for all I have and mindful of others less fortunate. But this would mean no one on earth has the right to self-pity their experiences, aside from the single individual with truly the worst possible existence. And I have also said, I do not derive consolation from the suffering of others. I understand that perspective, but that does not take away my right to feel.
