1
Let me tell you about my tree.Yes, it’s a tree—and mine. I say that not because I planted it or because our family owns the land where it stands tall. I have been with this tree for so many days—perhaps years—I’ve lost track of time, and thinking that it’s mine keeps me sane. Sometimes, I think the other way around: that I am its possession, not the other way around.
Let me remember the past so that I will not forget.
I was taken by my father to the forest and left alone. I was young then—maybe seven or eight. My father was trembling as he set me down beside a very large tree. I might have learned the name of the tree had I gone to school, but anyway, to continue—I was half-awake then, wrapped in my favorite blue cotton blanket.
“Father?” I remember rubbing my eyes amid the confusion. My mother stood silent behind him.
“Shhh... Just sleep, Thomas. Go back to sleep,” my father whispered.
I trusted him then. I went back to sleep on the cold, hard ground, thinking that by tomorrow I would be back in my bed and hear my mother’s call for breakfast.
