A Purple Suitcase

I was three years old when I had my first sleep over. My mum always tells this story to justify why I am the way I am. I happened to have this best friend from school that we were inseparable. Everywhere she went with her family her parents used to call my mum and ask her to ‘borrow’ me because my friend behaved so much better when I was around. So every weekend or so, if her family went to the farm, there I was, if her family had a birthday or a wedding to attend or even if her parents wanted to have a nice romantic dinner, there I was to entertain my hyperactive friend.

She used to be at my house a lot as well, and because I was still learning not only my mother language but also my second language, we used to have these hilarious baby conversations where I used to mix all the words and she, as a good friend used to pretend she understood exactly what I was saying.

One weekend her family wanted to travel to Montevideo. I think I could consider that my first trip away from my family. Again, I was three years old. So, they came over to our house, all of them, and asked to my mum very carefully if they could take me away for a long weekend with them. They said we would stay at her grandmother’s apartment and that we would basically stay in by the fireplace and have a good time together.

My mum didn’t know what to say, so she decided to pull me to the side and ask if I wanted to go and that if I didn’t want to go she would say that she’d rather have me not going. Until today she tells this story as if it was the most normal thing for a three year old to do. She said that I looked at her and I said – I would like to go mum.

After that apparently I turned around, went to my room and grabbed a plastic purple suitcase that used to belong to my cousin and that I used to keep all my dolls inside. I emptied it and I packed. I don’t really remember what I packed, but I’m sure my mum had to repack for me.

She also said that once I was ready I didn’t even hesitate. She asked me again if I was sure, that if I wanted to go back home I wouldn’t be able to because I wasn’t going to be round the corner as it was usually when I went to my friends’ house to play. Once again I grabbed my suitcase and didn’t even look back. I just got in my friend’s parent’s car and went away.

My mum always said she never saw such thing. How could someone that small just turn around and leave with no hesitation, with no fear and barely being able to carry her own plastic suitcase?

To be honest until today I’m not able to carry my own bags, but that never stopped me, never scared me nor made me give up travelling.