My Fondest Memoir

I didn’t want to cry here, but this memory brought tears to my eyes.

I was taken back to my distant past—my childhood. At the time, I was about to turn eight. It was the season to harvest the rice fields of my uncle in Bayawan, a city far north of our hometown. The trip there took hours and was expensive, and the harvest would last nearly a month, so my father had to stay.

For a young child experiencing separation from him for the first time, a month felt unbearably long and lonely. I didn’t want him to leave, but no matter how hard I cried, I couldn’t make him stay. He had to go. Before leaving, he promised to bring back the toy car I had once seen in the market when my mother took me with her.

While he was away, my mother stayed to care for me and my eldest sister. She did everything—household chores, errands, cooking, feeding our hogs, herding our goats and cows, and washing our mud-stained clothes. Looking back, my heart aches for her. It must have been exhausting, yet we never thought to help. But what could you expect? We were children, lost in our own world of play.

Then, the day came when my father returned. Overjoyed, I ran to him, hugged him tightly, and he lifted me onto his shoulders. He brought sacks of rice, grains, and baskets of fruits—but I didn’t care about any of that. I searched frantically for the toy car he had promised. There was none. My heart sank, and I burst into tears.

I don’t remember him ever bringing it. Maybe it was something we couldn’t afford. Instead, I had to settle for the wooden toy car he crafted for me from a coconut shell and bamboo splinters—a small consolation, though he was a skilled carpenter.

Then, on my birthday, my mother surprised me with a box. I had no idea what was inside—until I opened it. There it was: the exact yellow toy car from the market. That moment remains one of the happiest of my childhood, a memory I’ll always cherish.

Thank you for reading. Cheers!

Photo by Stockcake

[Blog] My Fondest Memoir

My Fondest Memoir

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