As A Little Girl...

... I used to sneak out of our house to swim in the river.

... I used to steal mangoes, duhat, sineguelas.. and those grape-looking fruits whose name I never really remembered.

... I used to stay on the highest branches of trees and just daydream.

... I used to think that the holy water in our village church could heal childhood scrapes.

... I used to write letters to the Nazarene... and silently, whisper the song "One, two, three, Jesus loves me. One, two, He loves you, too..." for I thought that it would make Him smile (even impressed) to hear a little, eight-year-old girl sing a song that no one else in the village knew about...

... I used to bring my playmates to our home so that they could have bread and egg... and ketchup... (for they considered it a feast... though I considered it as just food.)

... I used to feel bad when classmates who I knew were smart, in my childish perception, were made to stay at home to help their families earn a living.

... I used to feel this ache that I knew not how to name...

And as an adult, I still feel it sometimes... and in just the same way as when I was a little girl... I still do not know how to name it...