Kinga In Oz

Do you ever open a blank page with a blank mind with the sole intention to type furiously about anything or nothing, hoping to unleash through your fingers all the things contained consciously or sub consciously through all the years you have lived so far;  a feeling that is undefinable and lying downtrodden along the path between hope, happiness, misery and everything else there is to feel where each one stands on an end of a multidimensional axis and that undefinable feeling lies right at the center of it all, feeling all the eyes of those other feelings?

That feeling comes and goes...atleast every once in a year.  It tells you to journey inward and backward to remember all the things that had amassed to make the person that you are. It has to start from day one of your memory functioning.. the times your mother hugged you close to her bosom and made you feel precious, the times you father held your hands and told you a bit about the world, the day you joined school and cried on the assembly ground, and then gradually learnt to build your own world where you had your own friends, your own dreams and desires. It was all about One Fine Day then...No matter how hard you cried, or toiled or laughed, you always looked forward to that fine day as if that fine day would sift you to the immortal haven of your dreams. Happiness then meant three square meals a day, some friends to play with and if you were lucky, an unperturbed childhood by the ravages of the odd times that were then.

People who were born years before me would mostly allege they grew up before time – grew into premature adults and built their world. Those who are born years after me would be confined within the walls of their clean home, so the dusts wouldn’t settle on their feet and then there are the ones who were growing up around the time I did, and saw a bit of both sides and perhaps that is why, as I reminisce the glory days of my childhood, I wish I could swing back into those days and relive all those wonderful times. At the back of my head, I can hear my laughter from then – how innocent and uncorrupted as children we were and how almost nobody maintains that part of persona as we grow up.  I never quite realised when I grew up and it’s often quite shocking to see my almost 3 year old swirl round and round in her beautiful skirt with a tune on her lips, gazing at me with her adorable eyes and awaiting my adulation while I am gasping with bewilderment, wondering whenever I became a mother! And as she lovingly sang me a song this morning with “dear mama” in between to remind me of my age, it felt like my doomsday was finally here and I felt the grey hairs shift their asses on my head...What a painful reminder!