Chapter 1: The Crack

My first memory was from when I was still crawling. I remember seeing a blue bike behind the door in the dining room. It was so big. I was impressed and fascinated by it. I can still feel the strong curiosity and wonder.

I started crawling to get closer to it, and as I moved, I looked up at the ceiling. It seemed so far away. The world felt enormous. I was in awe. The feeling was so intense — I just wanted to explore and understand it more.

After crawling, I finally reached the bicycle. I touched it, and the amazement stayed with me, as if it wasn’t even possible for something like that to be real.

I still love blue.

***

After some time, when I was two years old, something happened. Throughout my life, I’ve been told several different versions of it.

First, it was a woman riding a motorcycle.

Then, it was someone driving a car.

Later, it became a woman walking who bumped into my mom and made her drop me.

After that, it was my grandma holding me, and someone bumped into her, causing her to let go.

Of course, the version with my grandma only came after she had already passed — when she couldn’t defend herself anymore.

The truth is: I suffered a head injury.

But I wasn’t in pain. I was just… observing everything. Quiet. Awake.

I still remember the hospital bed with white bars — possibly an old crib. There were plush bears, and at least one stuffed rabbit. I was surrounded by many of them, and somehow, they made me feel comfortable and calm.

I looked up — and I saw my parents standing there, side by side, looking at me.

That moment… it was the only time in my life I remember feeling truly cared for.

Truly safe.

I felt loved.

The feeling was so intense that I could never forget it.

Especially because I never felt that way again.

The injury caused me to develop epilepsy and difficulty concentrating.

But I’ll talk more about that later.

***

Not everything was terrible. My grandma was someone very important in my life.

I have a few memories of her. But don’t think they stayed with me from the beginning — because they didn’t. I was lost for a while. Until one day, I remembered again.

Even though I was living with my parents, our home shared a wall with my grandma’s. We even had a passage connecting the two houses from the inside. I went to sleep with my grandma many times.

One day, I woke up and she was already downstairs. She heard me, so she called up and asked me to turn off the stove — she was going out to buy fresh bread, which was less than five minutes away on foot. I told her I was just getting dressed and that I would do it right away.

She trusted me. So I trusted myself too.

I went downstairs to the kitchen and turned off the boiling tea. I was so happy — so proud to do the task she gave me. I felt confident, happy, and accomplished. I still remember the feeling.

When she came back, she asked me if I wanted warm chocolate milk and butter on my bread.

That simple moment… it was peace. It was home. I couldn’t have wanted more than just her presence.

She was so thoughtful, caring, and loving.

One night, we went to bed. She turned toward me to hug me, then asked me to turn again so she could give me a goodnight kiss. Then she asked me to turn one more time so she could hug me again as we fell asleep. Her hugs and kisses were so tight, so strong, so determined, so real.

We didn’t need to say, “I love you.”

We could feel it — more than words could ever say.

Another day, I went with her to buy bread. She bought me a piece of mint gum. It seems like nothing, but it took me by surprise. I wasn’t expecting her to buy me anything. I was so happy, so grateful.

There was a time we were all in the kitchen — me, my mom, and my grandma. We baked cookies in our wood oven. There were many shapes. I helped shape the letter “S.”

They were just talking. Nothing big. But everything felt in the right place. The comfort, the familiarity, the peace… the flavor of that simple moment.

Everything was well. Or so I thought.