Peace.
I think we all have a place, a person or even an object that comes to our minds when we think of the word “peace”. My peace may actually be the exact opposite of yours, but it is, nonetheless, my peace, a piece, so profusely, close to my heart.
This peace of mine keeps me grounded in this quick-paced road of life that forgets the best parts about growing up, in order to make room for the endless responsibilities of adulthood. This peace is one of the biggest parts of my life, where I’d argue that it shaped me into person that I am today.
Located in the tiny atoll of Meemu is where you’d find my little peaceful world, an island named Mulak. It exists only a few minutes from the jetty from which you arrive and walk on the whitest of sand that your feet just melt into. Kind of like endless lumps of marshmallows.
It exists, through glimpses of several homes made from matching corals from the rich reefs of Maldives, in shades of obsidian and white, stacked over each other, and the others like my own, where the corals have now been covered by modern cement in bright and bold colors.
Anyway, we’d walk a few minutes through these colorful foretastes of life, greet our neighbors with beaming smiles and finally, enter through the glossy sky-blue doors of our home and be properly embraced by the peace that I speak of.
As I write, I'm thinking. I'm thinking that this peace of mine reminds me of better days. The better days filled with endless scenes and scents of love and togetherness, as if engulfed by an endless gleam of golden light that made me feel so adored. It reminds me of the chartreuse hues of the enormous sapodilla tree that greeted me at the entrance through the azure doors. The tree that shaded me from the ticklish rays of the sun as we’d play in the mixes of alabaster and beige sand while we created endless bittersweet memories.
It also reminds me of the rich jade betel leaf vine that spread out like the wings of a squillion butterflies within the front garden, the vine that I secretly ate from as a child, even when I was told not to. It still reminds me of the infinite rows of bushy flowers in shades of fuchsia and milky white that we always accidentally ran into as we played. In my head, these moments are still, straight out of a Ghibli movie.
These scenes and so much more surrounded me as I’d skip towards the booming sound of my family’s laughter as they sat on the round rows of joalifathi (roped seats), hand-knotted by themselves in tints of the primary color wheel. This area had a palm tree older than my ancestors in its center, where my family used to sit and chat. An inexplainable feeling, is the smile, as sweet as the scent of the freshest of flowers, that’d appear on the face of my younger self and the warm and fuzzy feeling that’d run through me as I’d watch my parents reunite with the people they grew up with. This of course, now feels like moments that I had taken for granted. It is as though that.... between this scene of life, perhaps, we grew up within a blink of an eye and were handed a golden platter of our own responsibilities that barred us from experiencing all this so purely once again.
Still, a glance into my memories and I instantly recall the moments of how my mornings went. I’d get up in the early morning light, my younger self feeling ice cold from the dawn air and freshen up in the piercing water of the island.
As I’d dress up for the day while listening to the birds’ chirp outside, in sync with the roosters’ crows, ‘cock-a-doodle-do’, as it’d go, the occasional melody of the leaves dancing from the biggest of the trees to the smallest of plants would bring me peace, too.
As soon as I’d step outside through the door, and into the fog of the outer world, the smell of roshi (flat bread) being made in the kitchen to the right, would immediately guide me to it.
As a child, I’d listen as the women of my home silently giggle about as they cooked, almost mimicking the voices of mythical beings, while the men entertained the children as they did so.
Seeing the sun come up in the front garden as I’d wait for breakfast whilst fighting off the million mosquitoes trying to eat me alive was an extreme sport! But the fruit of this was that much sweeter, as my uncles, aunts, parents, grandparents and all of my cousins would gather around to have the first hot meal of the day. Albeit somewhat biased, the taste of rihaakuru (fish sauce) or mas huni paired with roshi and piping hot jasmine tea, hand-prepared with so much love and positivity could only be topped by the foods of the heavens.
Being confined to this concrete jungle of a city, the so-called city of opportunities, I can’t help but miss the peaceful piece of my heart that much more as I describe it.
Now, surrounded by this dull concrete we call home, the art of gardening keeps us alive instead. The colorful bougainvillea and various other green plants in our balcony, pay homage to the place that once gave us the love that we practice today. The greens that surrounded me just as I’d walk in, now exist only in memory and photographs.
Abandoned by its people for better opportunities, I wonder how my home feels.
Is it letting nature take over the garden that once made it so unique?
Does it get excited with every wind that slightly pushes the once glossy sky-blue door to it open?
Could it, perhaps, be waiting for all of us to reunite in it once again?
I wouldn’t know. But I thank it for the memories that it gave me. I thank it for the endless memories I have of a perfect family and an amazing childhood.
It is true that a home is with the people and by spreading the bliss of love, we each carry pieces of our magical garden with us, so that every time we reunite, our joyful garden is complete, time and time again. But even if this is true, my dear Thiyaramaage, you will always be my forever and peaceful home.
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If you've reached this far, thank you so much for giving this a chance.
Did it help you create an image in your mind? How'd it feel to read it? Thoughts?
Let me know what you guys think! :)
Constructive criticism is always appreciated! <33
