I was on board, with safety belts. Going home after some years, I think four years. These four years, I have not done any traveling, except going to office and coming back and off course, few marketing trips. So, the journey was riveting and sort of adventure for me.
I didn’t sleep the night before, couldn’t wait to catch the flight home. Anxiety prevailed big time. There were images I never thought would be so lively, so far away from themselves. Mind-game? There were times; I would have loved to see them but, it was not possible to rest those imageries without seeing them in reality.
I wanted to see our new home that I never been to, I wanted to hold my little sister’s newborn daughter, I wanted to walk barefoot in the paddy field again and I wanted to cry again for my dried plants. All those memories of childhood, they were all in front of me as if I am part of it. I know, I can’t ignore myself from being a part of it. But I am aware that I have made myself vulnerable to my own belief that I have become distant from all of them; those fields, those evenings…
In fact, those memories have become a heavy baggage itself, a collective resonance inside me. Few tears drops could have done favours upon me, but I played stubborn player with little or no knowledge that reminiscences do haunt like anything. That was a art until I board the flight.
Beauty, in everything!
The thought was seminal, for a happy journey. Mother waiting for me, father pretending not to bother by my arrival! How happy they would be, that was a foolish reminder to me. Parents, they have all the love and we have all the excuses. I had a million excuses.
Now that I have returned again to my exile, I fear had I exhausted the excuses against the responsibilities.
I didn’t sleep the night before, couldn’t wait to catch the flight home. Anxiety prevailed big time. There were images I never thought would be so lively, so far away from themselves. Mind-game? There were times; I would have loved to see them but, it was not possible to rest those imageries without seeing them in reality.
I wanted to see our new home that I never been to, I wanted to hold my little sister’s newborn daughter, I wanted to walk barefoot in the paddy field again and I wanted to cry again for my dried plants. All those memories of childhood, they were all in front of me as if I am part of it. I know, I can’t ignore myself from being a part of it. But I am aware that I have made myself vulnerable to my own belief that I have become distant from all of them; those fields, those evenings…
In fact, those memories have become a heavy baggage itself, a collective resonance inside me. Few tears drops could have done favours upon me, but I played stubborn player with little or no knowledge that reminiscences do haunt like anything. That was a art until I board the flight.
Beauty, in everything!
The thought was seminal, for a happy journey. Mother waiting for me, father pretending not to bother by my arrival! How happy they would be, that was a foolish reminder to me. Parents, they have all the love and we have all the excuses. I had a million excuses.
Now that I have returned again to my exile, I fear had I exhausted the excuses against the responsibilities.
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