Growing Up

A text message came in, inquiring about a story from my past. He wanted to dig deeper into a specific story I had shared, as he himself was discovering the mystery of past moments.

I became pensive. 

I was reminded of my childhood as a result of the words that appeared on my phone.

I remember the immigration process. Not very well. There are mostly gaps and holes but with few very vivid moments, for they must have carried their power and entered my psyche, leaving an impression.

I missed almost an entire year of school during the process. It was an unusual experience for a star student, though I continued my education, watching my dad play chess with my new, albeit slightly younger 10-yo friend, whom I had a crush on, because of his intelligence (he was obviously intelligent for winning against my dad who was the smartest man around!) and for his good looks.

I remember sleeping in a hut that was somewhere in the forest so dense, the floor that my mom mopped upon arriving was wet for days.

I recall living on mandarin and kiwi diet, for we could get large boxes of these fruit from the farmer's market, when the merchants wanted to unload all their excess food instead of taking it home. I don't remember eating anything else. 

I tried to communicate with a local girl via a dictionary that I carried in my pocket, learning how to read a different alphabet. Most of the adults around were learning English. I was trying to learn things, too. I did learn that the word for library was the same in Italian as it was in Russian.

I saw a grocery store that seemed gigantic while, in reality, it was probably the size of a convenience store but it looked like heaven to me. I saw colorful packages, meat wrapped in plastic, and bananas. In the winter! I had never before seen a grocery store with shelves full of items. Most of my life previous to that was spent standing in lines for 2-3 hours playing badminton and waiting for the store to open, so we could get our share of the sausage, or walking from store to store looking for bread and milk, because my mom ordered me to do so.

I tried to roller-skate in the small terrace in front of the house. I don't remember being very successful at it.

This experience of poverty and uncertainty. This experience of being uprooted at a young age. Of malnutrition. Of fear. I look around the world around me now and wonder: when did it become acceptable and agreeable to pay a million dollars simply to have four walls and a roof? When did we lose perspective on what is enough? And, at the kernel of it all, when will we become humble?