God's Exotic Masterpiece: Born to Stand out

CHAPTER 2: WHO AM I? (THE SEARCH BEGINS)

The Cherry Tree

It was the first week of September 1994, two weeks after my third birthday. The summer was officially over and a new school year was about to begin. The streets were filled with the hustle of traffic and the loud honking of car horns from every impatient driver rushing to go about their day. For me, it was the start of an entirely new phase in my life. I could no longer spend hours watching cartoons or sneak most of the snacks from the cupboard into my belly. I had to embark on a new adventure, learn even more creative things and do what introverted toddlers, like myself, hate to do—make new friends.

The new school life involved both of my parents doing separate routines. Dad's responsibility was the morning bath and get me dressed in my uniform: a white shirt, buttoned with a little red tie, overlaid with a black tunic and black shoes. The attire was a far cry from my daily staple of T-shirt and shorts. Mom was in charge of breakfast and lunches. By my request, my lunch box was filled with cheese sandwiches, no fruits, snacks and a Chubby—a kid's soft drink that had an illustration of a stout boy, with small legs and a big belly on the label.

Since Dad couldn't be trusted to comb hair that was longer than 2 inches, hairstyling was Mom's domain. After breakfast and lunch packing, Mom had to race up the stairs to comb my hair.

"Regular 3, Mummy", I declared before she picked up the comb and brush.

After experimenting disastrously with different styles, this became the only hairstyle I was comfortable sporting. I was always afraid that people would say I looked like an alien or I had an ice-cream cone on top of my head. The three plaits perfectly disguised my cone-shaped head and was easy for Mom to handle.

By 7:30 am, with my Power Rangers backpack on my back and matching lunch kit in hand, I was ready for my first day of pre-school. The school was a home that had been converted into different classrooms, a cafeteria and a playground. No matter what was nearby, the building to me, represented an amusement park. As soon as I was released from the safety of my car seat, I hurriedly jumped out. To my amazement, there was a short tree laden with cherries, a big yard with a red monkey-bar, slides, swings and a sandbox. Mom's tight grip was the only thing standing in the way of my giant leap into the sandbox, bursting the seams of my tunic.

The classroom was a scene of parents desperately soothing their crying children who were hanging on for dear life to their parents' neck, tugging on their shirts and wrapping their tiny bodies around their ankles. At first, my three year old mind couldn't comprehend this behaviour. That would change ten minutes later. I was introduced to the teacher, a middle-aged woman with curly short hair and a mole on her cheek, who guided me to my seat and told me to say 'bye-bye' to my parents. The floodgates opened as I stretched out my arms for Dad to hold me as he does so well at night. As my parents hugged and kissed me goodbye, the crying intensified to near hysteria. Dad managed to release my hands that were cuffed around his neck and walked towards the door, trying not to look back at me. I quickly darted after them, with tears streaming down both cheeks, but the teacher picked me up in my tracks and tried to comfort me with stuffed animals. Coincidentally, fluffy toys always made me feel cosy during times of tension.

For the first two weeks, I cried every time I saw my father's back bending into his car until I became accustomed to the environment. I was rather shy and mainly enjoyed my own company, apart from the rare occasions someone wanted to play, or steal a crayon from my desk. Even then, I would retreat to a cage of silence and only release a nod. I enjoyed tracing numbers, drawing letters and colouring inside the lines. Mostly, I took pleasure in running up and down on the playground, building sandcastles in the sandbox, pumping my legs on the swings, zipping down the slide and gorging myself with as many cherries as I could pick from the tree.