Day 80: one of your favorite childhood memories
Firstly, I have to thank God for a truly wonderful and blessed childhood. It was full of fun and frolic and lots of little pleasures and simple joys.
But of all those cherished memories, one stands out. And that is my habit of checking out every nook and cranny of my home after a stay away from home. Whether it was our ancestral home that we visited every summer or coming back home again after a holiday, I loved exploring our home.
Every time I came home, I would rush through the mandatory ablutions (imposed after a long trip) and glug down the glass of milky concoction before impatiently running through all the rooms. In our ancestral home, I like to see all the new plants, the solid old tamarind tree with its outstretched arms, the ancient discarded wooden boxes (full of junk but nevertheless exciting) and the wild, unattended garden. On coming home, I liked to see if any new birds had succeeded in making any nest, if my stuffed, furry friends were still waiting atop our bed, and that all my diaries/ scrapbooks were unspied upon (despite the contents being disclosed by myself :) ).
Why does this particular memory mean so much to me? Simple. It wasn't the differences in decor or verdant growth that I sought to see, it was the reassurance that no matter how old I or the homes got, the welcoming havens would remain the same. I was always comforted by the security of knowing that these were safe cocoons that would have a embrace me in their warmth and affection no matter how naughty or annoying I was.
Isn't that a truly a memory to cherish?
Firstly, I have to thank God for a truly wonderful and blessed childhood. It was full of fun and frolic and lots of little pleasures and simple joys.
But of all those cherished memories, one stands out. And that is my habit of checking out every nook and cranny of my home after a stay away from home. Whether it was our ancestral home that we visited every summer or coming back home again after a holiday, I loved exploring our home.
Every time I came home, I would rush through the mandatory ablutions (imposed after a long trip) and glug down the glass of milky concoction before impatiently running through all the rooms. In our ancestral home, I like to see all the new plants, the solid old tamarind tree with its outstretched arms, the ancient discarded wooden boxes (full of junk but nevertheless exciting) and the wild, unattended garden. On coming home, I liked to see if any new birds had succeeded in making any nest, if my stuffed, furry friends were still waiting atop our bed, and that all my diaries/ scrapbooks were unspied upon (despite the contents being disclosed by myself :) ).
Why does this particular memory mean so much to me? Simple. It wasn't the differences in decor or verdant growth that I sought to see, it was the reassurance that no matter how old I or the homes got, the welcoming havens would remain the same. I was always comforted by the security of knowing that these were safe cocoons that would have a embrace me in their warmth and affection no matter how naughty or annoying I was.
Isn't that a truly a memory to cherish?
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