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Here are a few of my happy memories.
Age 4. My mother was heavily pregnant with her third child. Me and my toddler-aged brother sat on the couch next to her, gently touched her belly, and talked to the baby that would soon be joining us.
Age 8. Our family lived in a trailer home next to a highway that was built on a big hill behind our home. We were very low income, and I know my parents worried about how that would affect their kids. The biggest thing on my mind then was how often I’d get to go sledding down that hill. We had some lightweight plastic sleds that glided down that hill perfectly. It was my favourite thing in the entire world other than reading, and I did not care that my parents couldn’t afford to buy us fancy new toys or name-brand clothes.
Age 18. Exams were wrapping up, and winter break was just about to begin. I sat in my college library and thumbed through the magazines they had there, paying special attention to the ones about science, literature, or history. It was neither a big library nor a fancy one, but I loved how quiet and peaceful it always was. I spent a lot of time there between classes even if I didn’t have any papers to write or upcoming tests to study for.
Adult. Recently married and living in Canada now. We couldn’t afford to travel on our honeymoon, so we explored a lot of free or low-cost stuff to do here in Toronto instead. I was amazed at how large, clean, and beautiful High Park was. Out of all of the parks in the world, it’s still my favourite one.
Adult. My first book was published, a collection of short stories. (There’s a link to it at the top of this site). I really should try to get more of my work published sometime. Writer’s block is terrible.