บท 2: Age: 2. Family
I’m unsure of how much time has passed since then, but now, at least, I know what’s going on: I was reborn.
No idea how or why it happened.
Well, I mean, in my past life I had read about it. There was a whole genre of fiction dedicated to people being reborn into different cultures or eras and, of course, there were also those ‘self-help’ books about past lives and the continuation of life after death, but I never sincerely gave it much credit.
But now… now I sincerely don’t know what to think.
I was reborn into the past: somewhere in ancient Asia, but I still can’t figure out where or when. I never really studied the language, history, or culture, so I’m unsure as to where I truly am… not that it really matters, because I doubt I can go back to the future. The fastest thing in this world seems to be horses, so no chance of achieving the needed 88 miles per hour, and no DeLorean either.
As I ponder this, I sit on my current mother’s lap.
This woman is beyond beautiful. I sincerely don’t know how I lucked out with my current parents: My father is a big man with a winning smile, he’s around his thirties and seems to be somewhat important, because many people are coming and going from his study every day; yet despite all the work he does, he always seems to have time to spend with mother and me, unlike my own father from my previous life who was so busy making money to actually see his children.
My current mother, as I stated before, is a drop-dead gorgeous woman with a melodious voice that is just a minor part of her charm. She can’t help but smile when her eyes land on me, and despite the fact that I still can’t understand a word they’re saying, most of the time I get the feeling behind it, so I can say that I somewhat understand what she means.
I don’t seem to have more siblings, which serves me just right, because I wouldn’t know what to do with them in my current state, but I have seen plenty of different faces to know that there are many people living with us.
The only problem of being reborn like I did, is having the mind of a 36-year-old man inside the body of an infant. No matter how much I want to do or say, this body simply can’t handle it and I, more often than not, sleep my life away.
I’ve resigned myself to learning what I can from the people around me while my body gets slowly accustomed to being alive.
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More time has passed.
I must be somewhere around two years old.
My sense of time is skewed since my days are spent exploring this curious world I find myself in.
These people don’t celebrate birthdays as I did in my other life: yes, there is a party, food, and presents but no cake and no candles and, while I understand the language better, there are still many gaps in my knowledge.
At least I made my mother laugh and smile the first time I said “Mama” to her, which I believe is the equivalent of ‘mother’.
I sincerely don’t care if it’s not, since it made her shine that precious smile down at me.
I’ve also spent some more time with my father who I believe is named Shen He Long. I’ve seen him write many letters each day, he has also taken me out of the gigantic home where we live to visit the surrounding towns and forests. He seems to be in charge of a group of armed men, probably soldiers, since they all wear the same black uniforms and armors, who I’ve seen hanging around the house every day. Sometimes a bald man in white clothes comes home and he sequesters my father for hours before he leaves in a palanquin to who knows where.
Many defer to that man but there are also plenty of pity stares sent his way, for some reason.
“Shen Mu, darling, what are you doing?”
I turn around to see my mother sitting on her knees to look at me while her hand gently pats the top of my head.
“Mother!” I smiled and hugged her then point to the thing on the ground “read”
My dearest mother blinks in surprise and looks at what I’m pointing at.
My chubby baby fingers are hard to use and my mind wanders more often than not, but I’ve been able to somewhat work around that to begin training myself in learning the written language.
I wasn’t an author in my past life for nothing. And I sincerely miss writing poems and stories for my blog. So here I am, a lifetime later, trying to do the same thing.
Mother looks at the poorly drawn characters and beams down at me, although I can sense a great deal of surprise coming from her.
“You did this, honey?”
I think the coal stains on my hands are proof enough, but still, I nod at her.
She hugs me “This mother is pleasantly surprised. Her boy is so intelligent.”
‘Ah, flattery will get you anywhere’
My little practice session was cut short when my mother noticed how dirty my hands and arms were and I was thus carried to bathe.
I resigned to my fate.
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