Open to any constructive criticism you can throw at me.
Opening to Chapter One, Possibly
You know how most people can’t remember anything before they were able to speak, or around that time? That isn’t the case for me. Not at all. Of course, not withstanding that I couldn’t really speak coherently until I was five.
In any case, I can remember the vast majority of my childhood, save for my earliest years. Somewhat. I can remember a few things, but it’s like looking at a blurry photograph. You can tell the time of day, or, possibly, where you took it, but, other than that, barely anything shows up.
The only thing I can retrieve from my infancy that doesn’t have this problem is my emotions. And I can tell ya, they weren’t the most healthy things for a newborn to mature into childhood under. Loneliness is the most prominent, by far. There’s confusion and fear in there too, but loneliness had its fingerprints all over my mind. An intense, all consuming, loneliness. I suppose, in hindsight, that’s perfectly understandable, considering that I was just a know-nothing, helpless, infant. Without his mother. Or father. Or anything.
To be absolutely honest, I have no clue how I survived. None whatsoever. I mean, as I say, I was a newborn living in the ghettos of Balik.
Then, at this point, I start remembering things. I was three.