Or the one in which I gave in to the pull of textbook narcissism.

• When I was a child (the exact age escapes me) but it was so long ago digital cameras weren't even mainstream yet, possibly not even invented yet, we went to the beach with my mum's extended family. I drowned, just a little bit. I went under, near the shore, but the tips of my toes didn't touch the sands and little waves kept pulling me left and right. For a second, I was afraid. Then I saw legs and clung to it like a lifeline and heaved myself up. Mum looked down and smiled. This is one of the many times mother saved my life without being aware of it.
• My first memory of dad, aside from he's always at work, is that one time during kindergarten. The bell just rang, indicating the end of classes and through routine, I ran towards where my mother waits for me and turned around to hand her my backpack. Except I was suddenly high, higher, highest. Lifted from the ground and placed on dad's shoulders. I clung to his hair and laughed. He smelled of airplanes and Marlboro reds.
• I plan to die before March 2011.