My childhood is full of untold stories, bittersweet memories who shaped me. They are parts of me whose personal importance might not only be underestimated but also not understood. However, when such things are bottled up for too long, they become burdens to carry for a lifetime.
I was around four or five years old when, playing with my best childhood friend inside a women’s clothing store; happy and careless as innocent children could ever be. Suddenly, the mannequin’s wig fell off to the ground. The wig happened to be styled as the employee’s hair, and an idea that was deemed funny to my toddler’s humor crossed my mind. So commited a mistake that I still regret nowadays. I picked it up, put it on, and goofed around mimicking said employee jut for fun’s sake. I pranced around joyfully, but little did I know that my father had spotted me from outside, and he was furious. He stormed in and threw the wig off my head, and just like the other time I got yelled at, humiliated and hit. But to me, what hurt the most wasn’t the fact that it was all a joke nor that they never let me explain what truly went on and not even the physical pain but what really made this incident so memorable was the fact that I was made sit alone and watch my friend blissfully play inside the shop while I was punished for something as simple as wearing a wig.