You liked playing rough, competing for praise. Dina would always say she got the wild child impression from you, and she was always right about that.

You got hurt frequently—mainly from forcing yourself to go on. Once, your shoulder was dislocated, yet, you managed to hurl yourself over a brick fence to keep yourself from getting bitten.

Dina could only scold you as she took care of you.

Now she sat on a chair, tending to your wounds as she talked to you. “You’ve got to be more careful.” Dina shook her head. “This is the third time this week. Aren’t you tired?”