At the age of five, I witnessed a captivating scene: My father standing in front of the mirror, razor in hand, meticulously shaving his mustache. The rasping sound of the blade against his skin intrigued me, and in my young mind, it seemed like a playful act. Unaware of its true purpose, I believed the razor to be a new toy awaiting my discovery. Driven by curiosity, I devised a plan to satisfy my inquisitive nature as an innocent child. Seizing the opportunity while my parents indulged in their afternoon nap, I sneaked into their room and swiftly pocketed the razor, treating it as if one would savor a stolen cookie.

https://opinion.inquirer.net/163508/my-first-shave

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