I don’t know how I know what I know.
As “the smart kid,” I was known to be found by my siblings, at random times between 1st and 4th grade, sitting in my bedroom, listening to Tchaikovsky, and reading the encyclopedia.
In the fifth grade, during some sort of class trivia contest, I kept getting answers to things right, to the point that it became almost comical to some of my classmates.
“How do you even know something like that?” one of my more extroverted friends exclaimed after I easily answered some obscure trivia question.
And that’s just it: I didn’t know how I knew. Chances are, I still don’t.