How many times do we get asked this throughout our lives, I wonder? How many times have I been asked this so far, and how many more times will I retell the same story?
Well, here’s one more to add to the ledger.
My earliest memory is fond, endearingly fond, probably sickeningly so from the lens of a child psychologist. (Or rather, the child psychologist who once posed this very question to me).
So, let me set the scene. It was 2002, 24 years ago. On Christmas Eve, in fact. And tiny, two-year-old Mya was on a one-way flight to England. Accompanied by her two new parents! That’s right… My earliest memory is the day my new life began. The day I was gifted a second shot at this thing called life. The day I was coming home.
I can’t recall much of that day, but I do distinctly remember numerous trips to visit a young couple who were sitting a few rows back from us. I wasn’t much interested in their coos or fussing, rather – their gigantic, delicious bar of Toblerone! I remember taking three pieces, on three separate occasions and proudly presenting my bountiful forage to my bewildered, jet-lagged new parents. Simon and Marianne. Aka. The two most Goated parents, ever, no seriously.
I did get cut off after the third piece, however, much to my disdain. Because nobody on that plane was lining up to be the first to deal with a sugar-sick baby. Looking back, everybody meant well, although at the time I’m sure I put up one hell of a fight to be allowed to revisit my new best friends in aisle F, (complete guess, of course, but F will do. “That’ll do, Donkey, that’ll do”).
So yeah, pretty cool first memory as far as they go. And it’s no surprise, looking back with an adult lens, that such a profound, life-altering trip would be so ingrained in my consciousness. And what’s more – it’s made even more special by the fact that everything following that day – up until around 2004 is a blur. That one plane ride stands firm, enduring, a landmark event in The Life of Mya. Pretty cooool.
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