Our house has a big terrace. It's very plain-looking, just an open area at the top of our home, but the three kids in our family, including myself, were very fond of going up there and playing when we were younger. It looked over most of our neighborhood so it was always fun to just look down and around from that high up.
One of my favourite memories about being up on that terrace is during winters with my Grandparents. It was usually during nights or late evenings. We'd go up there and my Grandfather would light a small fire and we would all sit around it, huddled together, relishing its warmth.
Sometimes he would also bring potatoes that he roasted for all of us and we'd sit there for an hour or two just eating, talking and laughing together.
I suppose my brothers and I have grown too much to be excited about going up there anymore so we rarely ever do. My Grandmother too has gotten really old since and can barely walk around from one room to another so she can no longer go up there even if she wanted to.
Metaphorically speaking, one half of my memory doesn't belong and the other simply can't.
When I think about it that way, it makes me sad. As we grow, life changes and gets so much more complicated and heavier that it's hard to remember things from past and make sense of why they made us happy then. Or why we can't have them anymore if they do.
But there are some rare moments that stick out and even if they're bittersweet, they still remind you of the happiness of being just a kid. This is one of those for me.
I didn't even remember about this time until a couple of months ago, but somehow it made its way back and I was reminded of it. Of course, remembering a memory from such distant past and knowing that that's all its ever going to be anymore hardly makes the current complex life any simpler for me.
Yet, it's comforting to know that somewhere in a small storage box, these little moments are safely tucked away. That at least they happened and still exist in some form.
I do wish we could go back, to eating roasted potatoes by the fire with my Grandparents who were healthy and my brothers and I who were just enjoying being kids, and feeling content in these little moments.
But even if we can't, I feel content in knowing that we could once be there.
YOU ARE READING
Little Nostalgia: My Memory Gallery
No Ficciónthis book contains pieces of me in pieces of my memories. this isn't poetry, these are real moments out of my life that have somehow managed to stick to my very forgetful brain. written and recalled as one would the past. Copyright © 2022 WriterBells
