My past is a cloud of uncertainty.

One day in high school, we were instructed to search the depths of our minds and find the earliest memory we could muster up. We took turns sharing. Most of my classmates seemed to remember their childhood. They spoke about their friendships in preschool and transitions into kindergarten. My stomach flipped, and my anxiety began to flare up. When it was my turn, I spoke about an experience I remembered from middle school. My teacher demanded I come up with something earlier. I couldn’t do it. There was nothing there. There still isn’t.

I cried that day, because I realized not only that what I was experiencing wasn’t typical, but also because it meant I was left without a past.

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