Childhood has become a messy blur of events carefully tucked in my brain. A past which is recalled when your friend says "Remember the time when we had picnics in a self made tent?" Or when you mother thinks it's funny to narrate the tantrum you threw when the doctor was taking the plaster off of your sister's hand. Now I sit down to think of my first few years on earth. All I see are images flashing through my head, shifting before I could focus on one. I look at myself in the mirror. I spot a scar from the time I fell down through an uneven pavement. Of the time I ironed clothes while wearing them. Of the numerous times I fell down and got right back up. I might have had some sense knocked into me from then but I'm still the same girl with twinkling eyes. Childhood is like the photo album that you flip through, looking at forgotten bits of your journey; toothless grins, brief friendships, stubborn fights, flunked tests and questionable fashion choices. But above all, it is a proof that you have a lived through an interesting time. Swathi H St. Teresa's College, Ernakulam