Chapter 8 I think, therefore I am. However, ignorance is also bliss. To be ignorant, one must be unaware, to not think of knowledge. Is it a logical fallacy to conclude that to be in a state of being, is against bliss?

Never have I once questioned my fate.

No matter how unfortunate, how cruel. To me, whatever will be, will be[1].

I never questioned why dad had to leave us so early.

I never questioned why we had to move from city to town, shire to village.

At age four, my mummy left me at a weaving factory. She took my elder sister, a year older, and my brother, who was just a baby, away somewhere else.

I didn’t know anyone. I didn’t know where I was. I didn’t know how to ask.

The weaving masters would order me around on errands, doing odd jobs here and there.

Moving threads and other objects to-and-fro.

Brewing tea and serving refreshments.

Sweeping, wiping, moping, cleaning.

It was peaceful. I was taught the things I needed to know.

That being said, there are times when things get scary. Like that time when I first tried to bring tea. I didn’t know the cup would be that hot, and I ended up dropping the steaming pot on my leg.

The weaving master, the one with the beard, was angry at me for the entire day.

Thankfully, the other weaving master, the one with red hair, got my leg treated and comforted me.

It hurt a lot, but I was happy.

At night, the weaving masters left for their homes. I quickly learnt where the things are meant to be stored at, and worked hard to keep things neat and tidy.

After that, I’d sleep on the wooden bench at the back of the work room.

I was given a small pillow and a large blanket, made by the bearded weaving master on the first night.

It does get scary sometimes. The room would be pitch black, and I’d be alone in the factory. Sometimes, the sound of rats and other critters would keep me awake.

Those nights were the worst, because I need to wake up at first sunlight and prepare for the day.

One time, I was too scared to go to the toilet. I had an earful from both the bearded and the red-haired weaving master.

The one I liked most was the tall weaving master. He was the loudest of the three.

When they’ve gotten a good sale, or when something good happened, he was the first one I look for.

I learnt to be cheerful and bright. When they are happy, I cheered beside them. Sometimes, they would give me a cookie or even orange juice!

Tall weaving master gets moody often. When he was sad, I brought him a cup of water.

I usually get happy when I’m not alone, so I did the same for him. I think it helps.

Sometimes, when he was happy, I also brought him a cup of water.

I think it’s good to share the happiness. I think that worked, because I got the most sweets and cookies from him!

One time, he gave me five copper coins. I didn’t know what they were.

By then, I could speak a little, so I asked him.

For some reason, he looked very sad for a brief moment. I worried something I said upset him.

But then, he took me out of the factory, the one I’ve been living in for a long time.

A long time to me, anyways.

We didn’t go far, just to the local bakery a small walk down the road. There, I saw a dream.

Cakes!

Tall weaver master taught me about buying things and money. He smiled when I pointed at all the fancy and sparkling cakes on display, and encouraged me to pick one to try.

I ate the cake there and then. It was so sweet; I couldn’t help but hop side to side.

The baker, a large lady with an apron, gave me an extra bun with butter as a gift.

I was happy.

I was in that factory for a long time. I grew older and taller.

I started to speak more often.

The work I did was as simple as the food I got. I would often daydream of the different cakes from that bakery shop. Once, I let my daydream interrupt my work and broke an important part of the weaving machine.

I was scared. More importantly, I was disappointed with myself at mistreating the trust of the weaving masters.

It was a horrible day, and I swore not to do that again.

With what little money I would sometimes get, I bought four cakes. For the four of us.

They forgave me. I was happy.

One evening, I was curious. The bearded master weaver used this needle machine often, and I thought it looked fun. There was a pedal at the bottom that, when driven with your legs, the needle would move up and down onto the fabric.

I was taught a while ago, how to set the machine up and dismantle the threads after.

And so, I tried it. I didn’t know what I was doing, I simply did circles around a discarded piece of fabric.

I knew I would never be allowed to try it if I asked, but I did it anyways. I felt a little guilty, but I thought it’d be fine if I put everything back.

Little did I know, because I was rough with moving the fabric, I caused the needle to misalign itself. A minor detail that, unless you were a master weaver, you would never notice.

That day, I had my hands slapped. I betrayed the bearded master weaver’s trust, and I was taught how important that was.

Since that day, I worked hard. I looked out for opportunities to do something before I was asked. I wanted to make up for my mistakes.

Many days later, bearded weaver master bought me a cake.

I was happy.

One day, a woman came for me.

She told me that my brother and sister are now at a different place, and that I should go to them. She said she explained to the weaver masters already.

She told me I was 7 years old, and that I need to be smarter than I am now. She had the money to get me to school.

She took my hand and lead me to a carriage.

I didn’t have the chance to say goodbye to the master weavers.

I couldn’t understand the feeling that was welling up inside me.

Our journey took a whole day, blanketed by the murky clouds. There was no rain yet.

When we finally arrived to town, I was in a small cottage next to my brother, my sister and my mother.

They all look so different to how I remembered. I realised:

I didn’t know anyone. I didn’t know where I was. I didn’t dare to ask.

I went to school as promised. At first, like everyone else, I was nervous and stressed. But soon, my fears were dispelled.

The teachers were all gentle and caring. They taught me to express myself with language, and I quickly grasped the basics. They taught me the concept of time, of learning and of progress.

Funnily enough, I didn’t need much help in simple maths, what with the amount of practice I had counting threads and calculating prices.

Miss Comboyle, my homeroom teacher, was proud of me.

I was happy.

Three months later, the term ended. School was closed, which meant no free lunches for the students, and nothing for us to do.

Tony was deemed too young to work, and so mother left him behind. Sasha followed mother to wherever she worked, as she claimed to have done so in the past. Meanwhile, mother also told me to earn some money however I can, but she left me to my own devices.

I didn’t like to be alone; I didn’t know where to start.

If there was something that I’m grateful for, it was the teachers I met at school. I learnt the most important life skill I have there – the courage to ask.

Therefore, I entered each store I found and asked if there was something I could do for money. Naturally, the first shop I tried was a bakery store.

Some people were rude – some were even violent. However, most people I met were kind and encouraging, even as they declined.

In the end, I was lucky. I meandered into a post office, where they were in need of people to deliver advertisement notes, papers and letters. Since I had no idea of the general area, nor the street names required for letter delivery, I was tasked to distribute flyers and leaflets from day to night.

It earned very little, but compared to my previous job as a weave factory squatter, it was a fortune to me.

I gave all I earned to my mother. It was the first time I’ve heard her praise me.

She asked me to continue until school starts again in two months. A day later, she brought me and my siblings not a slice, but a whole cake.

My mum was proud of me, and I was happy.

When school started once more, I was a completely different person. I did my absolute best in class, and I worked up the courage to talk to the other students. I found it hardest to talk to other boys, because they always made fun of how poorly I dress, how dirty my hair was and other titbits of my appearance. I didn’t understand at the time why that was important.

The girls were much nicer to me, though some still mocked me for how little I knew. They’d use slangs and terms I’d never heard of just to confuse me, but what truly boggled my mind was why they felt that was necessary.

I’m used to smiling, even when I’m upset. A few of the classmates liked that, and they were patient with me. Soon, for the first time, I learnt what friends were and made some.

It didn’t last long though. Out of the blue, my mum looked for me at my school, reeking of smoke. As soon as we met, she took my hands and brought all three of us to the carriage station.

She didn’t explain, but she didn’t have to. From her purse, she spent what little we had to purchase a ride to a different place.

Our cottage, with our clothes and our possessions that we accumulated slowly the past half-year, were all left behind. All I could do is look at out of the carriage window.

I thought to myself then – at the very least, I got to keep the uniform gifted to me by Miss Comboyle. It’s better than before, when I couldn’t even take the pillow and blanket with me from the factory.

The journey lasted longer than a day. I slept from the exhaustion of crying silently for hours.

My mother sat opposite to me, hands clenched and anxious. Something is worrying her. I thought it was because of the driver, who looked strong and mean. If a fight were to occur, we’d be helpless against him.

I asked her, timidly, why we had to leave. She told me it’s going to be alright, but nothing more.

The driver introduced the destination as Kalton City. I was too tired, too scared, to care.

I only knew my family, and even then, not much. I learnt the name of the city I’m in, but I don’t know how long I’ll be here for. I asked the question that was burning in my mind, but didn’t receive an answer.

I started to understand this feeling, but I disliked it. No, I hated it. I didn’t want to feel this way.

Mother paid the driver for information, and he led us to an abandoned house. It was three stories tall, but filled with cracks and foliage. The windows had no panes, like holes of a clarinet to the merciless winds. Given the state of the upper floors, I wouldn’t dare to even try to get up there in fear of causing even more damage.

The only toilet was broken. We had to squat in the corner, and used whatever we find as the paper for our deeds. Luckily, the sink, though loud as a trumpet, was at least functional.

The dampness, the coldness and the howling noise completed the haunted house trinity.

I wasn’t just scared, I was petrified. In that state, my mother left the three of us to fend for ourselves.

She also left the only bright thing within this house – her pouch of coins.

I didn’t know what the coins were for. I thought she went out to buy things and forgotten her money.

Who’d have guessed she’d leave for that long?

I found out years later – that day, 23rd August 5822 Caethem XVI, was my 8th birthday.

[1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Que_Sera,_Sera_(Whatever_Will_Be,_Will_Be)