There’s a memory that has stayed so profusely etched into the deepest recesses of my mind that even now I ponder how it could have worked out differently. I was young then, innocent, but that immaculateness got snatched from away from me with one single scarring event in my life. What could I have done against them? I still don’t have a clear answer, but there might have been something I could do. I attempted to tell others of my dilemma, but then I remembered my aggressors’ false threats.

During that time, I had been a six years old I recall being quite an introverted child. My mother always told me that I should become friends with the boys and girls around my neighborhood. Eventually, I befriended two boys. They were both two years older than me and we became friends quickly. We had played video games and cards, but after a year, our relationship became noxious and vile. I’m not sure how it happened, but they started bullying me. However, I never told my parents and I distinctly remember the words they divulged.

“If you tell your mom, we’ll burn your house down.” They spoke in unison, holding out a box of matches as proof. I stared at the box with trepidation, fearing for my family’s life. Of course, this was merely a means of keeping my mouth shut, but in my young and inexperienced mind, I took their threat to heart.

In that instance I asked myself this question, can I be selfish enough to let them know what’s happening? To me, the answer was as conspicuous as the sun on a bright and clear day, and it was that I needed to protect my family. “I promise, I will never tell them!” I affirmed. My “friends” merely grinned at my words. While one boy walked away, I distinctly remember the other muttering, “Sorry.” Nothing else was said as they walked away from my front yard, opening the rusty gate. I didn’t think about it then, but perhaps the other kid was being bullied by the one who walked first.

In those torturous days, I would cry to myself when I was alone and it was in those days that I realized how dark, somber and cruel the world was. I was forced to relinquish my previous misconceptions of life within the span of a few days. While I was forced to endure many things, it was their words that tormented me, and even now, I feel them criticizing me, belittling me, degrading me.

However, my mother eventually discovered the truth, and like that, they disappeared from life never fulfilling their act of setting my home ablaze. Eventually, we moved and I never heard from them again. This life experience made a wound so deep to the extent that I found myself reluctant to associate myself with other boys. Today, I still don’t trust many other guys around my age and I look askance at any male who attempts to be my friend. Even if I do befriend them, that friendship hangs precariously over an abyss of perpetual distrust.

In hindsight, I could’ve spoken up, but even after all that pain, I wouldn’t have. Every experience is a part of who you are, especially something of this magnitude. It made me stronger and even then, I don’t think it was enough because I’m still not strong enough.