Jay's dairy

Childhood - (or when everything is pink. i think)

I remember parts of my childhood but most of my memory is foggy, I guess I forgotten a lot of the bad stuffs cuz the only things that i remember are happy, a life in pink.

As the youngest of the family at that point a lot of the attention was on me, my aunts amd grandparents were around me constantly, everybody was documenting everything about me, the things that a liked, what i did, my hobbies, aspirations, everything.

My aunts told me that I was shy but funny, I laughed at everything and everything was interesting. My grandma told me that I was smart, that i was very clever and witty. My dad told me that i was pretty, that my hair was long and dark and my skin white and that I had the most beautiful dark eyes of the family.

My mom on the other hand has another story. My mom says that i was clingy yet independent, clever yet intrusive and funny yet lonely. She says that I was never sad but when I cried it was serious, that I wasn't a child that cried for nothing so when I didn't it was because i was really hurt. She also says that i was the loneliest child that she's ever seen, I had a sister but she didn't liked me, in my neighborhood there were no other children and i was to young to go to school, so most of my days I spent them looking at encyclopedias and drawing, that my biggest dream was to go to school and have friends and that every adult who met me they immediately got sad because of my loneliness.

I don't remember loneliness, i don't remember the cires, i don't remember the boredom and i would love to believe the version of my other family, that i was happy and joyful, clever and beautiful but, looking at me now, that version doesn't feel real, it's the version of everyone that loves me blindly and are willing to look upon all my flaws but at the end is not real, not their version nor mine. I believe that the version of me, the true version, is the one that my mom has of me.

I think that all of us would love to be the best version of ourselfs, the pink one, the one that we want to remember, the sunny days, the joy, the perfect world. But at the end of the day thats just the beautified version, the better version. Its just a glass tinted pink, not a truly pink.

And without that glass, what do we have left?

we have the truth.