I was born in a large family. As they worked very hard to make a living,
my parents didn't have much time to take care of us children, least of all me who is their fifth child. In my childhood I always tried to draw my parents' attention to me in as many ways as I could think of. Finally I found that to pretend illness was perhaps the most useful trick. One day I really caught a cold, but I took it lightly and was even happy about it because I thought my parents would therefore pay more attention to me. Two weeks later my cough grew from bad to worse and my mother, suspecting it was pneumonia, took me to a hospital run by some missionaries.
The priests there were very kind to me, giving me loaves of bread, milk, toys and books. As a young child I really wished I could stay in the hospital for good. There had been such a wonderful time.
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