I and my parents once traveled together with other families to another town. The kids were similar in age to mine. A hawker was selling a small human-shaped toy. The amazing “little person” was made of some plastic straws, it was moving its lambs, dancing, and when the hawker said “turn left/right”, it would do so.

Our kids were fascinated by that, asking with parents to buy them one. Adults knew that’s a trick, educating their kids. While watching and being persuaded by the hawker, kids were then completely obsessed with the show, unwilling to leave there. Finally, the parents bought the toys—after all, it only cost two dollars. Kids, satisfied, left with joyfulness. EXCEPT my parents and me.

“I want one,” I pleaded like other kids. As usual, my parents did not buy it. Even other parents also asked my parents to buy one. “Come on, it’s just two bucks.” No use. My dad became angry and cursed me. We finally left there. Along the way after that, I really wanted to cry loud but I tried to control myself. I knew I should behave well in front of other people, being a good kid, so that my parents would not feel humiliated.

I was sitting in the back right of the car with other kids. They were chatting happily. I slightly raised my head, looking at the sky when the car was winding up the mountain road, to control my tears not to drop. I was so angry and aggrieved that my heart was really uncomfortable, and about to explode. Other kids laughed so loud but I could not hear.

Such a strong, bad feeling. Even after twenty years, now, I can still remember.

So how’s the little toy at the end? Of course, it did not work well shortly after we left the hawker. The kids then left the toy as if nothing happened.

I had two little red-eared turtles, small like a kid’s palm, living in a small wash basin. Just filled in a thin layer of water, and put two little stones.

Every day I would get the smashed pork from the fridge, gouged out a small piece, and put it in the little hole on the stone. Then the turtles would move slowly and get to the meat. They tasted the meat and ate it out slowly. This might be the first time that I felt the pleasure of having my own animals.

Although they ate meat every day, they’d never grow up. Soon after, they disappeared from my life forever.

I would have cried and bet my parents to buy new turtles, and they might have refused my request. When I became older, I saw the news discussing the “weekly pets” issue. Some bad buyers sell animals that cannot live long, like the weekly chicken and weekly dogs, that customers buy, only to find they die after just a week.

Only kids do not understand cruel facts. More cruelly, when they get it, they are still not happy. That’s what happens later in a trip with other kids.

My grandma raised chickens, always about ten, in a corner of the backyard. The chicken place was simply formed by curtains around it. She fed them with vegetable leaf waste. I watched her feeding and sometimes mimicked her, throwing the leaf through a small hole in the curtains. Chicken moved slowly, but suddenly pulled down their head quickly to attack the leaf.

Sometimes naughty chickens would fly up to the branch of the tree beside them. Grandma would become angry and shout at them, asking them to come back to their place. My grandpa’s yellow dog was sometimes tied in the backyard near the chicken place. It seemed to be hostile to the chicken, barking.

Around the backyard, there’s a sparse circle of flowers. Some abandoned woods and an abandoned bike. A wall basketball hoop on the other side. My cousins would shoot a basket when they came to visit my grandparents. I was running pointlessly in the backyard while my grandma was doing chores, and as if the sunshine was also playing in the backyard, so bright to be white.

Then the backyard was replaced by a fourth-floor building. With the back door closed, it turned dark, black, and so did my memory. Except for the yellow dogs then tied in the front yard, everything disappeared.

Dogs are my favorite animals because they are the cutest in the world. While cats are indifferent. My family does not raise pets. My parents are busing working and taking care of me; I went to school and did homework all day; dogs will make home messy and dirty… My mom had this and that reason why we cannot have a dog.

However, my grandparents had three dogs, two Chinese rural dogs, one dark yellow and one pure black, and one Shar Pei. They didn’t get names. People in my hometown raised dogs to protect their homes in the past, but now it’s not necessary for that.

The yellow dog was always tied in the front yard. Shar Pei was gone later and replaced by the black dog, who was able to move free in the house. Shar Pei was owned by someone my mom knew about, and then temporarily kept in my home. It looked special, ugly but cute. I played a lot with the black dog that I even intended to ride on its back, but obviously it did not allow me to do so and escaped, but then I chased it. Yellow dog ate everything including butter buns. I once threw him three butter buns, and it ate them out in a second.

Finally, all dogs were gone after my grandpa suspiciously got Alzheimer. Grandpa insisted on walking the dogs but he already could not walk well. My dad worried the dogs would make grandpa fall down so he moved all the dogs but I did not know how he did with the dogs.

Poor dogs.

Summer is the rainy season. It’s always raining, or if the weather is great, dark clouds may gather in just one second, and in the next second, it begins to rain heavily as if I am crying.

One afternoon, I was playing with toys at home. My grandma was also there taking care of me. Suddenly it became dark outside, raining as if someone was using a giant bucket to pull water on your head. Rain was falling onto the windows and the building outside, making a really big noise. It was lightning and thunder. The first time I was so scared of the bad weather. Then came a really bright light, and my grandma quickly covered my ear using her hands. Several seconds later, even though my ears were covered, the loud crack of the thunder still penetrated my eardrum. It must be the end of the world, I thought.

The same feeling happened when once my dad beat me in his bedroom. I did not quite remember why he did this—it must be only some small reasons, always. My dad had a broom rod (no idea how he got this), especially used for beating me when I was naughty.

That day, he commanded me to go to his bedroom. The door was close, no light, only a whole piece of black. He raised his broom rod, asking me “Would you do that again” angrily and loudly. However, it was so dark that I could not see his face but felt so painful when the rod hit my skin. Of course, I cried loudly. My grandma was also in the dark room, though no idea when and how she came in. Grandma asked my dad to stop with a shaking and rushing voice, and I could feel that she was also about to cry. Where is my mom at that time? What was she doing? Cannot remember, but my mom was also standing on the same side as my dad.

I could only remember the things that happened from I was three.

My parents and I moved a lot from I was three to six. We were first living near my mom’s working place. There, I attended my first kindergarten. My dad’s parents and mom’s parents took care of me in turn.

I was unwilling to go to the kindergarten because I did not recognize other kids and there were so many kids there which made me scared. Adults had to try every way to make me go there. My grandpa once rode a bike taking me to the kindergarten. He lied, saying we were going to buy something good to eat. I was excited to get on the bike but only to find we stopped at the kindergarten. So what should I do? Cry loud.

I do not know finally how they made me join the kids there, perhaps after I was running out the strength to make any resistance.