I was born a white male at the end of June 1994 in Split, Croatia, during a tumultuous time when the northern parts of Croatia were under attack during the Serbian occupation. I was raised in a white Roman-Catholic family and baptized on August 15, 1994.
An old VHS tape captures a scene from that time: a Holy Mass held in front of a church in the suburbs of Split. The suburb, nestled between several hills at the base of a northern mountain, consisted only of houses. The sea was nearby, located just south of the area .
It was a hot, sunny day. Everyone was so young—my parents, grandparents, uncles, aunts, and my godfather. The priest took some water, poured it over my forehead, and said, “Andrew, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”
After the ceremony, we all returned to our house for lunch. It was a cozy, one-story home surrounded by beautiful trees and a garden. In the garden, my paternal grandfather, wearing an undershirt, was roasting two lambs in a dirt-covered area.
The next scene on the old VHS tape shows me lying naked on a bed in one of the rooms. The cameraman captured this moment, even filming my tiny baby body. Shortly after, my mom entered the room, dressed me, and played with me.
Later, the video shifts to me outside the house, after lunch. A woman was holding me in her arms, and the footage clearly shows me making a gesture with my hand—bending the middle and ring fingers while extending the others in what some might call a devilish sign.
The next scene on the tape shows my great-grandmother at the window of the upper floor, gazing at all the guests gathered in front of the northern side of the house. I never had the chance to meet her. However, on the night she passed away, just a few months after my baptism, I cried out loud in the middle of the night. My cries woke up the members of my household, and it was then they realized she was dying.
The VHS tape ended. Later in life, I often wondered what my first true memory was—not what was captured on tape, but what I could recall myself.
This is what came to mind: someone held me as a baby, just a few months old. In my perception, I seemed to float a few feet above the ground, feeling warm and safe, as though I weren’t being held at all. It happened in the northern part of the house, where the shade provided relief during the summer. For a brief moment, I saw my godfather, and then it was over.
Everything before that moment remains a mystery to me.
The second memory I have in this life is one that left a lasting impression. It was the middle of the night, and I was lying on my stomach in my crib, facing the wall. I remember feeling frozen, scared, and barely breathing as I listened to the loud and wild sounds of my parents on the bed nearby. At the time, I didn’t understand what was happening, but the intensity of the moment left me feeling deeply uneasy, as though my mom was being “tortured” by my father.
@Limbo 
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