Childhood memories haunt me from "summary" of Autobiografía de un esclavo by Juan Francisco Manzano
As I sit here, pen in hand, memories of my childhood come flooding back to me like a raging river, unstoppable and overwhelming. They haunt me, these memories of a time long gone but never forgotten. They whisper in my ear, reminding me of the pain and suffering I endured as a young slave in a cruel world. I can still hear the laughter of my fellow slaves, the sound of their voices mingling with the harsh commands of our masters. I can still feel the hot sun beating down on my back as I toiled in the fields, sweat dripping from my brow. I can still taste the bitterness of tears as I cried myself to sleep at night, longing for a freedom that seemed so far out of reach. These memories are like ghosts that follow me wherever I go, shadows that darken even the brightest of days. They weigh heavy on my heart, dragging me down into a pit of despair and sorrow. They are a burden I cannot shake, a chain that binds me to a past I would rather forget. But despite the pain they bring, these memories are also a reminder of the strength and resilience that lies within me. They are a testament to the hardships I have overcome, the battles I have fought and won. They are a part of who I am, a part of the story that has shaped me into the person I am today. And so I carry these memories with me, like a scar that will never fully heal. They are a constant presence in my life, a constant reminder of where I come from and how far I have come. They are a part of me, for better or for worse, and I must learn to live with them, to embrace them as a part of my identity.
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