Words from the collection of Anna Akhmatova‘s prose entitled, My Half Century.
It’s both easy and difficult to speak about childhood. Thanks to its static quality, it’s very easy to describe, but all too often this description is permeated by a saccharine sweetness that is entirely alien to such an important and profound period of life as childhood. Moreover, some people want to appear to have been too unhappy in childhood, while others want to appear to have been too happy. Usually both are nonsense. Children have nothing with which to compare and they simply do not know whether they are happy or not. As soon as consciousness appears, a person finds himself in a completely settled and fixed world and the most natural thing to believe is that this world was never different. This initial picture will remain in a person’s soul forever, and there are some people who believe only in it, though they somewhat disguise this peculiarity. Others, on the contrary, do not believe in the authenticity of this picture and rather lamely repeat, “Was that really me?”