In this photograph I am not yet 2 years old. My mother’s bicycle is leaned next to the bench where I am sitting.

IMG_8144My mother doesn’t remember the occasion or circumstance under which the photo was taken or where my sister and other siblings were.

I often try to imagine what this little girl –me– was thinking.

I am not smiling, rather it seems my attention is focused keenly, else where, rather than at the person taking the photo. Yet, I seem very  intense. I don’t have a memory of myself at this age, but I see myself, much younger in my crib, very self-absorbed and feeling as if I don’t need anyone. My imagination is active and I love being alive in that moment.

How do we connect to who we were when we were born, to who we have become?

How do we know or remember which dreams were important to us and when we let them go, or why we let them go or do they still live somewhere else?

How do we know if we have realised more than we had hoped for as a child or less?

How connected or disconnected are we to our little person self?  I feel strongly that I am connected to little Opal, that we walk side by side, that she nudges me and says good going, that she is so proud that I have not abandoned her or our dreams.


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