That kid

Their father just bought them two mini Jugo juices. Judging by their wet hair they must’ve been swimming. I can’t figure out if the smallest one is a boy or a girl; its blonde curls makes me think of a boy. The older one is a girl. I think she’s drinking a strawberry smoothie. Both are so unaware of what’s around them…in their heads they’re still swimming; they won’t stop circling their little legs.  I admit I am jealous.  Twelve years ago I learnt how to swim, but I never really mastered it that well. There’s a list of things on which I gave up: playing the piano, guitar, drums, tennis, writing Chinese, … I don’t remember one thing that I continued to pursue. Writing is not a hobby; to me, it’s more a first aid box or sometimes even a rescue kit. First I put my mind in recovery position and then I work out how to put things back in order.  I think their father teaches them how to swim. Only just realised that my dad only taught me poker when I was ten, and he gave me private lessons in maths, which was one of the worst moments in my entire life. In my head I was hardly ever there to pay attention to his teaching, neither was I paying attention in the classroom. My self-consciousness is the result of how the kids used to look at me. While all of them weren’t even aware of their appearances, I was already reading Darwin, in order to understand why I looked the way I looked or why they all looked the same, but I never found an answer as a child. I don’t think these two kids over there even care a about their looks at this age. Then Mendel brought me closer to the answer that I was looking for, however, by then, I’d lost interest.  The little blonde one with the curls  is a girl. She has no idea how pretty she’ll look in a few years time. She didn’t finish her smoothie.

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