Before I became (too) self-conscious, I think I was a much more direct person. Not necessarily a better person. As a kid. Just... less concerned with what I was supposed to be.
As a child, there was often very little distance between thinking about doing something and actually doing it. Which explains a lot.
Like the time I saw my cousin's pellet gun and decided that his thigh looked like a perfectly reasonable target.
I shot him. He cried.
I don't remember having some elaborate reason for it. I wasn't angry with him. I don't think I was trying to hurt him.
I just saw a gun. I saw a thigh. And apparently that was enough.
I'm sorry, Kuya Josh LOL
I also remember pushing one of my older cousins while he was underneath one of those yellow Little Tikes slides.
I don't remember what he did. I don't remember why I was angry. I just remember that he was underneath the slide, I was annoyed, and apparently pushing him seemed like a reasonable solution. To be fair he wasn't a nice kid either so I mightve just found my opportunity to strike back.
Looking back, I was kind of a menace. I wanted to do taekwondo just so I could fight my boy cousins.
There was also this older kid at the playground who was pinching my little cousin's cheek. My little cousin was crying, and she was really scared of this girl.
I remember being angry. Not thoughtful, mature, measured anger.
The kind of anger children have, where the entire situation gets compressed into:
You're hurting her. Stop.
So I grabbed an ice cream cup, put some bird seeds in it, and used an ice cream spoon to launch them at her.
Yes.
Launch.
Apparently six-year-old me had invented a tiny bird-seed catapult. Then I ran.
Which, in retrospect, was both extremely brave and extremely cowardly. I didn't confront her. I didn't tell an adult. I didn't try to explain what was happening.
I threw bird seeds at her and fled the scene like some tiny criminal.
Of course, she got angry. She followed me home. She started banging on the gate, yelling that I had thrown ice cream at her. Which, honestly, made the whole thing even more ridiculous because she had seen the ice cream cup and apparently concluded that I had weaponized dessert.
I still can't help laughing when I remember it.
And then I remember that she was an older kid who was on the spectrum, and I think, oh my God, I really should not have done that. I deserve the tsinelas. honestly.
I should have gotten an adult. I should have told someone what was happening. But I didn't know how to do any of those things yet. What I did know was that my little cousin was scared, and I wanted it to stop.
But I wasn't always completely without a conscience.
I also remember being about six and wandering around the school when another little girl called my attention and told me she was going to sneak into the chapel. I don't even know why I was wandering around the school by myself.
But she went in, and of course, I followed her.
She opened the bowl where they kept the communion wafers, and we each took one. I don't know whyyyy.
I already knew I wasn't supposed to have one. My mom had told me that when we went to Mass. I hadn't had my First Communion yet, so I wasn't allowed to receive Communion.
Of course, six-year-old me somehow interpreted that as:
Okay, so I can't have one at Mass.
Not:
I also cannot just walk into a chapel, open the container, and take one myself.
Apparently that distinction had not yet occurred to me.
And then I felt so guilty. I remember the guilt much more clearly than I remember why I did it. Because even at six, I knew we'd crossed some kind of line. just hadn't yet figured out where all the lines were.
I think I was an aggressive kid.
Not necessarily at school. I don't remember being the kid who was constantly fighting classmates or getting into trouble.
It was mostly at home. With cousins. With family. With the people I felt safe enough around to be completely unfiltered.
And maybe that's what I find interesting about remembering these things now. I wasn't exactly a bad kid. But I also wasn't particularly well-behaved. I was impulsive. I was curious.
I was physical.
I had questionable judgment. I apparently had very strong opinions about where my cousin's thigh should be shot. And if someone hurt one of my little cousins, I apparently had no problem becoming their tiny, completely unqualified bodyguard.
There was a lot of “I'll do something about it” in me.
I just didn't always have the best idea of what something should be.
Then I became a big sister. I was seven.
And I think something changed. Suddenly, there was someone smaller than me.
Someone who looked to me. Someone I could protect. I don't remember consciously deciding that I needed to become more responsible. It wasn't some dramatic transformation. But I think I started becoming more aware of what it meant to be the bigger person.The person who could hurt someone. the person who could also protect someone. I think it was also mostly my parents became a lot stricter to me.
And then, somewhere along the way, I became self-conscious. I don't know exactly when it happened. There wasn't a particular morning when I woke up and suddenly understood embarrassment. It probably happened slowly. When I was 7? when I was in grade 5? When I was in highschool? I can think of a lot of moments where I felt like my shine was dimmed by people little by little. I started thinking about how I looked. How I sounded. Whether I was being annoying. Whether I was too loud. Whether people were watching. Whether I should say something or keep quiet. I should talk about these again on another post.
There was suddenly a distance between wanting to do something and wondering what everyone else would think if I did it.
And that little girl who had once seen a pellet gun and immediately shot her cousin's thigh became someone who thought twice.
Then three times.
Then ten.
Then sometimes didn't do anything at all. I consider my self as an overthinker. I dont panic. But I OVERTHINK.
I wonder about that version of me sometimes. Not because I want to become her again. I think I'm glad I grew up. I'm glad I learned restraint. I'm glad I learned that other people have feelings that matter. I'm glad I learned that protecting someone doesn't mean attacking whoever upset them.
But I don't think that little girl disappeared completely. I think she just learned to pause.
And maybe that's what growing up actually was for me. Not becoming a completely different person. Just learning what to do with the person I already was. The impulsiveness became curiosity. The aggression became a willingness to stand up for people. The stubbornness became independence. The instinct to act became something I could hopefully temper with judgment.
And the little girl who used to act first and think later eventually became someone who thinks a lot.
Maybe too much. HAHAH
Sometimes I miss how uncomplicated she was.She didn't wonder whether she was too much. She didn't worry about being embarrassing. She didn't spend ten minutes constructing the perfect response in her head. She just did things. Sometimes terrible things. Sometimes ridiculous things.
Sometimes, apparently, the right thing for the wrong reason.
But she loved her people fiercely. She knew when something felt wrong.And she wasn't afraid to act. Maybe I don't need to get her back. Maybe I just need to remember that she's still somewhere in here.
Just older now. Hopefully wiser.
Definitely more self-conscious.