I Spy With My Little Eye

Today I’m going to share something I wrote in my old notebook back in 2001. I had a phase wherein I was obsessed with spies and detectives, so I pretended to be both. It all started when I watched the movie Harriet the Spy. Although my entries then were harmless enough, my game of spying and observing unsuspecting neighbors could have easily developed into something creepy. Looking back now, I’m very thankful that I did not become a stalker (or did I? JUST KIDDING!).

Here is an excerpt from my ‘spy’ notebook:

I've solved the mystery, but I’m really curious to know why the small, flat, thin, and orange storybook was in my auntie’s room! I guess I didn’t find it odd during that time.

I’m not trying to willingly humiliate myself nor am I thinking that what I have written were golden. It’s just a funny way for me to look back on how much I have changed as a writer.

Hey Mom and Dad, Remember the Time You Left Me Alone in the House?

“You don't remember what happened. What you remember becomes what happened.” - John Green, An Abundance of Katherines

When I was little, I remember waking up alone in our house. It was a hot afternoon, and my hair was plastered down my head with sweat. Still feeling wobbly, I slowly got out of bed, dawdled to the living room, then wandered off to the kitchen/dining area only to become conscious of the fact that I'm all alone. I tried to check if my parents were on our backyard, but all the doors were locked, and I didn't see anyone outside as I pressed my face on the glass window.

I have to give credit to my four-year old self for not panicking or crying in that instant. I was even delighted because I realized that I had the whole house to myself. No grown-ups and no rules, just think of the possibilities! I could eat everything I want, run around, and jump on the bed, 'twas an impromptu party.

It was a blast sprinting in and out of the rooms until I caught a glimpse of a religious statue, which was fixed on the wall. A tidal wave of fear overcame me and I can no longer take my eyes off that holy sculpture. I was no longer running around, but my imagination was running wild. I thought it would step down any moment and seize me for being a mischievous child. Everything went downhill after that.

I started crying hysterically. I wailed and bawled and shrieked. The gleeful child who had a fleeting taste of so-called freedom was gone, and was replaced by someone trying desperately to get herself out of the house. The key to my escape was literally a key, and I couldn't find it anywhere. I searched every corner of the house, including the overhead cupboards that were off-limits to my small, unsteady hands. What happened next was a blur, but I remember rubbing a bar of soap on a doorknob in my feeble attempt to open the door.

The funny thing about this particular memory (and our memories in general) is that I remember the trivial details such as clinging on the soap like my life depended on it, but I can't recall how I miraculously survived. I can't even remember my parents' explanation. To this day I have no idea where my parents went that afternoon, and what had gotten into them when they thought it was okay to leave me home alone.