It has been said that time makes flashes of memories distorted. It’s how we recall them and tried to alter them. Years before, the three of us, my brother, sister and I used to perform on stage. My sister and I danced while my brother played the piano. People came to see our performance, but it was hard work. Our parents made us do it, travelling from one town to another, week after week, not having our normal childhood. While I’m writing this, I’m worried that I might repeat what our parents did to us to my own kids.