When my cousin Juancho was a kid, like five years old or so, he threw a rock at me. We were in a beach in Batangas, and Annika and I decided to try rowing the small banka. It barely fit us two kids, and we couldn’t go far because there it had a hole. We had to scoop out the water using an empty can of Nido powdered milk just to stay afloat.
Juancho saw how far we were. I stood up, and maybe I waved at him or something. He smiled, got a rock from the shore, and threw it at me. It hit me right on my forehead, and I heard him giggle. I didn’t want to cry because I knew that Juancho did not mean to hurt me, but it was so painful that I just crumbled and sobbed.
When Annika and I got back to shore, tito Pepe made Juancho say sorry to me. I felt so guilty because I knew he didn’t really mean it. He was too young to know that throwing rocks at people actually hurt.
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