Naturally, the subject keeps coming up again and again, like a person with severe diarrhea who finds both necessity and relief in visiting the welcoming toilet repeatedly. Whether it’s the unwanted, troublesome thoughts that can’t be erased from memory despite best efforts, or the gut-wrenching pain caused by an indulgence in some inviting yet undesirable exotic dish, these things must eventually be expelled. I attempted to write a short sentence, and this is the result. So much for my powerless power of expression.

At the age of five, when innocence clings to you like a baby monkey to its mother, and ignorance sticks with you like a piece of cheese on your chin after devouring a mega pizza, how could I possibly understand what a serious-looking man—holding some sort of blinding light, or a tiny torch-like thing—was trying to do by poking at my eyes and speaking in a barely recognizable language? This was my first experience with an eye-power check-up.

A large frame was placed on my tiny nose and even tinier ears, covering my entire face and pulling my nose and ears down as if they were about to meet at my throat. The room darkened, and strange ghost-like shapes appeared from the various lights around me. At last, some real light. A heavy lens was placed over one eye while the other was shut completely. The terrifying man’s voice, rough like the scratch of sandpaper on a brick wall, instructed me, "Read it." A rectangular board with letters loomed before me. "I don’t see anything," I managed to blurt out, filled with fear.

Then came even thicker glasses. Did my nose and ears sink further? "I can see a little bit," I stammered. It went on like this, until this now familiar man—who had not yet bred contempt in me—placed one of the thickest lenses on my face. After bombarding my already weak eyes with more light than even the most powerful politician could muster, how could I see anything?

But time is a great healer. After a few minutes, I started to read, hesitantly, like a baby taking its first few steps. I had just joined school and was still learning to read; all while being labeled a poor student due to my defective eyesight. I tried my best. The first letter, as tall as Mount Everest and as wide as the Pacific Ocean, was an "E." I still remember. I will never forget. Even after five decades, that same group of letters remained on the chart.

Over the years, the charts changed. Some were three-sided, with different languages or numbers. As modern times approached, illuminated charts appeared on screens placed a little higher up.

I also recall a chart where the letter "C" faced different directions, and you had to tell which way it was pointing.

After reading the same chart for over five decades, even someone as slow as me would have memorized it without any effort.

Continued in 167. Testing Times - Part 2