And If You Asked Me About My Happy Childhood Moments, I’d Say I Can’t Remember
Some people, when asked about their happiest childhood moments, would smile and answer without hesitation. They’d talk about family vacations, birthday parties, and days filled with laughter, playing with friends. Their stories would be woven with warmth, innocence, and the simple joys of being a child.
But if you asked me about my happy childhood moments, I’d say, I can’t remember. Not because I’ve forgotten, but because I don’t think I had any. Hindi ko maalala, kasi parang wala naman talagang ganoon.
My childhood was far from the simple joys that most children experience.
The memories that fill my mind are not of carefree days running under the sun or the comfort of a parent’s embrace. Instead, they are heavy—shadowed by moments of fear, confusion, and loneliness. I grew up in a world where love wasn’t always present, where safety seemed like something other children had but I could only dream of.
Habang ang iba’y naglalaro sa labas, ako’y palaging nagtatago.
I spent much of my time hiding, trying to find peace amid the chaos. I remember the shouting, the angry voices, and the constant tension in the air. The walls of our home weren’t painted with laughter and love but with tears and words that cut deeper than any physical wound. How can I find happy memories in that?
I used to wonder what it was like for other kids—to wake up excited for the day, feeling safe, knowing that no matter what happened, they were loved. But for me, waking up meant bracing myself for what could go wrong. It wasn’t a question of if things would go wrong, but when. And so, my memories are filled with moments of survival, of trying to stay invisible, hoping the storm would pass without too many scars.
Siguro nga, may mga masayang alaala ako noon, pero tinangay na ito ng mga luha at takot.
Perhaps there were brief moments of happiness, but they were overshadowed by overwhelming sadness and the constant struggle to hold myself together. I can’t recall a time when I truly felt free, when I laughed without fear lurking behind it.
Even now, when I look back, I try to find happy moments from my childhood, but all I see are broken pieces of a puzzle I never wanted to finish. The love I craved, the sense of belonging—I watched others have it, but never felt it myself. I tried to create my own happiness, seeking refuge in books and dreaming of a life far from the one I was living. But even those moments of escape were brief, and reality always dragged me back into the darkness.
Kung tatanungin mo ako ngayon, ano nga ba ang masasayang alaala ko noong bata pa ako? Wala akong maisagot. Hindi dahil nakalimutan ko, kundi dahil hindi ko naramdaman.
My answer remains the same. I can’t remember because my childhood wasn’t filled with happiness. It was filled with survival—trying to make sense of a world that didn’t feel kind or welcoming. I can’t remember because I never had the luxury of those happy moments so many others take for granted.
But in the end, maybe that’s okay. Not everyone is meant to have a storybook childhood. Maybe some of us are meant to find happiness later, to build it ourselves from the pieces we’ve gathered along the way. Maybe, after all the pain, I can still create the joy I never had back then. Hindi man ako nagkaroon ng masasayang alaala noon, pero siguro ako na mismo ang gagawa ng mga masayang alaala ngayon.
And so, while I can’t look back on my childhood with fondness, I can look forward with hope. Because even though I can’t remember the happy moments of my past, I am determined to create them in my future.
At sa pagkakataong ito, alam kong magiging masaya ako—hindi dahil sa iba, kundi dahil natutunan kong mahalin ang sarili kong buhay, kahit gaano man ito kahirap noon.
