Arcadia

18

I went back to my roots today. I went back to the roads that I had played along in as a child, scraped my knees on, fallen over countless times till I learnt to use my legs and walk over it. We went to a mundane, worn out, dirty temple by the roadside which held a dumb doll with a black face and a donation box inside. My mother tells me I used to go there with her every day and insist on dropping a coin in that box, that must have created a enduring fascination in a child's mind. That child is not me, no. That's someone I long left behind in a faraway place, only too look back at times when nostalgia hits, or when I want to gauge how far ahead I have come. It's always miles away. I look over with contempt as she bows down her head to the dumb doll in a blind faith, and wonder at the emptiness I feel inside. Ignorance is bliss, indeed.