When I Was Nine Mga Nobela at Kwento

"So, tell me something about yourself that isn't on your Wikipedia page. Something your game theory opponent wouldn't know." He stared at me, processing the direct order. He watched the pot for a long moment, then slowly looked back at me. "When I was nine, I tried to run away from home," he said, his voice so low I almost didn't hear it over the sound of the boiling water. "I packed a suitcase full of business plans and my mother's old silk scarves. I made it two blocks before my grandmother's security team found me." I blinked. "Business plans at nine? What were you going to sell?"

The tea was too sweet and exactly right. “Answer the question, Mom.” “It was not hiding,” I said. Then I stopped. “At first it was.” “When you were nine.” “When I was nine, I was a small, loud girl who had been told too often to lower her voice. A man named Mr. Ferris found me behind a curtain, crying about something I cannot remember now. A scene I was not allowed to watch. He said, You can sit there if you want. Do not touch the ropes.”

That was what I named the little hamster. What happened to him? I couldn’t remember. Dad at my ninth birthday, where I fell from a tree and broke my front tooth. I laughed and stared at my grinning nine-year-old self with no front teeth. Dad at my tenth birthday, with….Ivanka and Philip. And my eleventh birthday, my last birthday with dad. A tear rolled down my face as I breathed out, smiling. Those were good years. The best years of my life. Every page reminded me of something I’d forgotten.

I woke up slowly and fought my way to consciousness as if trying to swim up from deep, dark waters. I was 9 again, there was smoke everywhere. People were running around trying to escape the fire, there were gunshots. I closed my ears, trying to shut out the chaos, someone grabbed my shoulders. It hurt. I looked up at the face of the man, but it was all blurry. Then I was running again, I hid under a table and shut my eyes and ears again.

Slipping my robe off, I laid on the bed shirtless. I laid there, thinking. Thinking about everything. Thinking about how my life changed. Thinking about who did this to me, to us. Thinking about who made me become who I am today!!. What had I ever done? What had my family ever done to him? I was only 9 years of age! Only fucking 9! An ordinary 9-year-old child will play with his friends- I didn't, I worked!! An ordinary 9-year-old child would barely understand his surrounding in this world- I did, clearly. I was surrounded by cruelty in this pretended kind world.

But for now, it sounds impossible. And I've been thinking about meeting new people for awhile, but honestly,I am socially awkward. It's hard for me to adapt new personalities since my life only revolves around here. When I was like 9, my Aunt Nila came over to our house with her kids at my age. I was at my room that time when they came and I told Mom I don't want to go downstairs, but she protested and told me I will receive a new set of acrylic paint if I play with the kids. For the sake of acrylic paints, I let Mom won.

- They all sing together and they clap their hands . "Where's daddy and my twin brothers?" - The 9 years old me ask my aunt and she looked at me with pity. I hate that damn look and that look still hunts me up until now. I cannot help but let out a sigh and just then the scenario again changed and I can see the young me - the nine years old me crying and screaming in agony again "I hate you even more daddy!!!!! You left me!!!! You left all alone!!!!! " - The young me shouted at my so-called father and she run upstairs

They look at each other and back at me. “We were nine years old. It was our birthday.” Kara finally takes her hand out of mine and wipes a tear away. She tries to control a frown, thinking about the memory. “Mama told us we were getting ice cream. She took us to a building and told us the ice cream store was inside.”

My heart beat loudly and fast in my chest, making me nauseous. The first time I felt this scared, trapped, and helpless was when I accidentally locked myself inside my father’s Iron Maiden. I was six years old. The torture device was a relic from the past, but the spikes were still sharp and deadly. I almost died then. The last time was at Lupine Pass.

Never for me. The truth is, the actual birthday had gone like this. There was a cake, a number nine, a bunch of happy people and children. There was just one huge difference. On my ninth birthday I'd been accidentally locked out of the house. I had to watch as my parents and all the kids in the neighborhood celebrated my twin sister. They jumped in joy for her, no one noticed I wasn't there. Not a single person. The sickness of this fucking dream. To remind me of that horrid night. It rained so hard, and I just stayed by the window wondering why I was always the one no one wanted.