I am five years old in this memory. On weekends, my family often drive to a large shopping mall in the outskirt of our town to buy something we cannot find in the neighbourhood stores. I love this drive because it is long enough to enjoy the scenery and the music from the car audio while playing with my little brother.
Once in the car, I sit on the right side of the backseat and my brother on the left. As the car starts, we start playing with loud voices, so loud that my parents sometimes think we are fighting.
On the way, we drive across a little hilltop. Among the malls and houses, there stands a tall stone figure. It is an enormous statue of the Goddess of Mercy built by the owner of a hotel nearby. My parents say that the owner was not a pious person, but they built it to show off their wealth and such.
My brother and I don’t mind such story behind the statue, but its face gives us a perfect conversation topic. The moment the massive white stone figure comes into sight, we stop whatever we are doing and look out of the window.
“Is that a strange woman?” I say, turning to my brother.
“Is that a strange man?” says my brother.
Then we burst into laughter.
That is the memory of our nonsense in the car.