I was born a writer and an artist

I’m not entirely sure when my mom started doing this, but sometime within the last decade, she started this weird habit of collecting random, inconsequential things from my childhood for me.I do not want to think about what her motivation for doing so might be or even delve into details of the stuff she saves but sometimes I don’t have a choice.You see, my mom fancies this rather mortifying trip down memory lane as an opportune activity to bond with me.I don’t get it, I really don’t.I mean while most parent-son bonding sessions involve full body massages at spas, drinking beer, shopping, or gardening; here I am looking at random things that have little to no significance in my life.

 

Today we sat down at the decrepit kitchen table, the very same table where I ate thousands of cholesterol laden meals as a kid, to look at this week’s dose of nostalgia and weekly heap of junk.Among the items are: A lock of my baby hair, Flyers for summer swimming lessons, a faded Ogie Alcacid casette tape, expired SM department store gift certificates, a picture of myself and my ultimate grade school crush, Jane Sebastian doing some stupid aerobics shit, three paper clips, old McDonald’s coupons, grade school test papers and art projects.

Now those roused my interest a bit.The test paper mom found was actually one of the first English essays I wrote and the crayola disaster of an art project was one of my first futile attempts at doing something creative.I made both of these when I was seven years old; the time when my scholastic career seriously began to go downhill and never ever recovered.This is the time when prepubescence was taking its dreadful toll on me.

 

I have taken the liberty of scanning the said papers for public exhibit with the knowledge that it would seriously damage my reputation, lead people to doubt my sanity, and ruin any chances of me landing a better paying job or passing any type of psychiatric evaluation in the future.I’m a blog whore like that I guess…

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“What I would do to save the trees Trees are important because they transform oxygen into carbon dioxide.Without trees we die.I don’t like people to die most important my love of my life Joyce Sebastian.Jefferey likes to love Joyce Sebastian too but I punched him tommorroww morning. When papa Jesuss come he will panish Jefferey and the bad mans who cut trees and rape all the girls most important Joyce Sebastian my love of my life. I prayed to Santa Klaus to Kill Jefferey and cut all the trees and rape all the girls too. I’m going to be a preist.”

 

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It doesn’t bother me that I learned the meaning of the word “rape” and drew stick figures with boobs back in grade school; what’s distressing is the crushing validation that I was one messed up little kid.