My friend's mother, Mrs Koshi, is extremely interested in my family history. She actually drove me halfway across the island to my home just so that I could get my family photo album. (Yes, all the photographs fit into just one tiny album.)

When we arrived back at her home, she took her pile of albums stacked them neatly into a column and started comparing our photographs. Cruel hilarity ensues.

The first photograph shows my mother ripping flowers out of the lawn because she thought the flowers were ugly. Which was a stark contrast to my host's photograph of her husband presenting her with a bouquet of 99 red roses on the night of their wedding anniversary.

The second shows me as a young girl, fresh from moving into my then-new home at Bukit Timah, clawing violently at the television set simply because I was forced to watch Barney the purple dinosaur serenade children with his infamous rendition of 'I Love You' with other children of my age at a community library, most of whom were crying. The very next one shows one of their mothers screaming at my own to "GET THAT DEMONIC CHILD OF YOURS AWAY FROM US NORMAL PEOPLE." Yes that moment still burns in my mind after so many years.
Which was a strange comparision to my friend and host swimming and playing with his (presumably) friends, while another depicts hims at his classmate's birthday party. Albeit with a trace of reluctancy, according to his mother.

A third photograph, which was taken by a neighbour's child, depicts me as someone probably about 7 or 8 years of age. Walking home from school in the rain, totally drenched. And schoolmates on a passing school-bus laughing and pointing at me from their dry environment. While my host brandishes a photograph of her son just before his first day of Elementary school. (in his country)

There are a few more uneventful ones, so I shall skip to a final and randomly selected example, in which I killed a clone of Barbie which one of my parent's business clients from the United States sent me. I mauled her, stabbed a hole right into her face with a blade, and generally split her at every crotch. At this point, my host's mother asks me what was going through my mind at the time. My only reply was,
"Why wasn't there any blood?"

~Ah, nostalgia.