In a remote area without electricity, surrounded only by gardens, we had no television back then in 1999. I was four years old, the child of a farmer couple. At that age, I had just started kindergarten. At first, my father would accompany me to school, but as time went by, he allowed me to walk there on my own. The path I took from our house to school passed through a small stream, cornfields, and banana grove before reaching the village where our school was located.
One day, rumors began to circulate in our sitio about a crocodile living in the small stream. I was so frightened by the stories. I didn’t even know what a crocodile looked like because we didn’t have a TV, nor had I ever seen a picture of one. I couldn’t imagine what it looked like—I was only four years old.
One day, I saw someone fishing in the small stream using a net. When I saw the person’s head above the water, I panicked, sprinted away, and screamed at the top of my lungs, “Crocodile! Crocodile!”
At that time, a group of men was plowing the cornfield. When they saw me crying and running in fear, they also became alarmed. They stopped their work and panicked, rushing to help me, including the fisherman I had mistaken for a crocodile. When he emerged from the water and approached me, I became even more terrified. That was my first experience of trauma.
I am 29 years old now, and my memory of that time is blurry. What I do remember is that my parents and even my relatives laughed at me. As a 4-year-old child, it hurt me deeply. I cursed them all back then and harbored resentment. I told myself, "I will never forget this. I curse all of you on this day; you will pay for mocking me."