What if I were 10 years old, again?
When I was 10, I was living in the first house my parents ever bought. They used all of their savings to buy a small house deep in an alley. I remembered seeing my mum cried the first time after moving into that house. She lost the money they saved up to furnish the place. All we got was a big wooden cupboard and a few mattresses. My brother and I shared a mattress on the floor for months. My parents shared another in another room for months. Then we got a small foldable plastic table to be our dining table. All our plates and bowls were mismatch. We rarely ever ate grapes since they were often out of our budget. Our second floor in our little house had a floor so squeaky that I was always afraid to walk on too heavy footed. Our TV was only a little bigger than the stretch of my 10 years old hands. It was place on the ground since we didn’t have a TV stand.
And I never complained. We had food for every meal. We had a home to come back to and my parents had a place to call their own. I didn’t know any better and I didn’t need any better.
When I was 10 years old, my life was lacking everything. But I never thought about it that way until I was much older. When sometimes I told people how I lived when I was younger, then they told me that I was brought up not-that-well-off. And I thought back and started to re-evaluate my childhood: what I had and what I didn’t. And I realized how amazingly I had lived when I was 10 years old. When I was 10 years old, I couldn’t care less whether I had a lot of money. I was happy with just everything I had. That TV on the ground, my brother and I had laid on our bellies watching shows after shows. That foldable plastic dining table, we had all our homemade meals there. The freedom from material wealth was truly freeing. And being an adult, I would have had that again.
If I were 10 years old again, I just hoped this second time around, I had a life as good as when I was 10 years old the first time.