At one and a half years of age, I displayed signs of reading. At 2, my parents, Ravi Patel and Yang Hui, were funneling every book I wanted into my arms. I was still unaware of the concept of wealth, but at 4, I realized that my parents were at least comfortable. Able to live the rest of their lives and raise me in comfort with the wealth and income they attained.
They flew me around the world on long excursions, the excuse being finding places to expand their business, but the real reason being vacation. I did not protest; learning languages was as enjoyable as any other method of acquiring knowledge. Spanish, Portuguese, French, German, Italian, English, Hindi, Urdu, Arabic, Swahili, Mandarin, Japanese, Korean. Of course, I was not a master of any of these, but I could hold meaningful conversations with awestruck strangers.
My parents swelled with pride, but they did not want the media to interfere with our lives, so they ensured my intellect went unnoticed by everyone we interacted with. I played along remarkably well, but I didn't understand why. I naively believed everyone felt this way: the world was interesting, and learning about it was easy. Only later did I realize that I was an anomaly.
We did not have relatives willing to meet my parents. My father's kin despised him for marrying a Chinese woman, and my mother's side ostracized her for wedding an Indian man. Therefore, it was just the three of us, traveling everywhere and soaking in each other's love.
As I passed the age of 6, we decided to visit a village in northeast Myanmar. We had done this for a myriad of countries by now: flying to a bustling airport, road tripping to an obscure town or village, familiarizing ourselves with the townspeople's culture, sharing our perspectives with each other, learning how they lived and interacted with the world. The village, Mingala Kyun, was no different: a couple hundred new faces, coos over the cute boy, a novel way of life.
However, a sense of dread creeped into my veins as night fell. Something was wrong. Nothing felt right.
While I watched my parents unpack bedding in our small hut, I suddenly blurted, "Mom, can we not stay? I feel like something's going to happen."
My parents' heads swiveled my way, and both appeared rather concerned. My mom crouched down next to me and stroked my head. "Honey, what's wrong?"
"I don't know. I just... My stomach feels hollow. Every time the shadows outside move, it's like ants are crawling on my skin." I wrapped my arms around my mom and began to bawl. She continued running her hand through my hair, but the gesture was not comforting whatsoever. Anxiety was permeating every cell of my body.
My dad walked over to us and tightly hugged us for a moment, then stood up. "We're leaving."
"What? Why?"
While shoving our valuables into a backpack, he firmly stated, "If there's no trouble and we leave, that's fine. If there's trouble and we stay, that's a bêtise of the highest order."
"Well... alright. You're almost done anyway. Jianyu, make sure your ring stays tucked beneath your shirt," my mom advised.
I subconsciously tapped the black ring resting on my chest. "Okay."
With no warning, a thunderous explosion blasted our eardrums. We remained frozen in place for a few seconds. My dad awoke from the reverie first and shoved me to the hut's exit, but I tripped and sprawled onto the floor next to the open doorway.
Miraculously, that placed me in the blind spot of two masked intruders who barged in at that moment, so I scrambled up and slipped out of the hut while their attention remained on my parents.
However, amidst the explosions and screaming, sounds of spluttering and rasping emanated from the hut I just left. Dread gripped my heart so intensely that it was painful to breathe, so I crouched down next to the open doorway and peeked inside.
My dad was the one rasping and clutching at his chest. Beneath the movement of his hands, I saw a dripping hole. His assailant stood in front of him, supporting his body with one hand and holding his bloody, still-beating heart with the other. The figure was dressed in black robes, and I saw the straps of a mask on the back of its head.
My hands flew to my mouth to muffle an agonized scream, but my throat merely produced a strained exhale.
The second enrobed figure's motions drew my attention next. With one fluid motion, a hand wielding a dagger slit my mom's throat. A fountain of blood bloomed from her neck, and it pooled on the ground. She collapsed into her own puddle of blood. With her fleeting vestiges of consciousness, she somehow locked eyes with me, then desperately darted her eyes elsewhere in a naked plea for me to flee.
I obeyed.
I used the thud of my dad's body hitting the ground to mask the sounds produced by my swift departure, and I ran away from the hut, only to face a horrific catastrophe unfolding around me. Huts on fire, acrid smells, screaming villagers, bloodied bodies, limbs strewn everywhere, animalistic snarls, strange black 4-legged fiends rising from giant dark patterns on the ground, ominous laughter. Finally, orders to quit fooling around and kill everyone and secure the valuables on Ravi Patel, Yang Hui, and Jianyu Patel.
I took that as my cue to leave. I made a break for the jungle, as several villagers were already doing. They were mostly picked off one by one with blinding spells, but I managed to avoid being seen by hiding my diminutive figure in the tall grass surrounding the village. I heard discontent creep into the leader's voice, informing the assailants that the boy is not dead yet and that they must secure him. Most of the black figures began spreading out in every direction, with some heading directly for me. I dashed away even faster, sprinting into the jungle with every ounce of effort in my body.
What were they searching for? Why did they require my family dead and our remains searched? Our net worth was not extremely high; they did not go after us for regular valuables. No, those masked figures wanted something rarer. Something irreplaceable. My hand subconsciously clutched my pendant: wasn't it something my mom reminded me to hide and keep to myself?
An hour passed as I was lost in my thoughts while running. I was sure that I had lost them, but I needed to keep heading away from the village to ensure they didn't somehow find me.
But the cruel assailants were not the only thing I lost. My parents. Their lifeless bodies. My dad's empty chest. My mom's fountain of blood from her neck. Her eyes pointing at the exit. I saw everything over and over. I wanted to curl into a ball and cry, something I had never done. But I could not, for the jungle was not kind. I could only hope it would be kinder than those horrifying figures of black.