Mind And Matter

02- Childhood memories

"The cold wind caressed my cheeks, the warm sunshine gloated against it, and the creaking of swings, and the coldness of metal slides; just like that, I was re-living my childhood. The grass felt soft under my bare feet, the children laughing and running here and there, and I don't know why, but I think I felt something akin to peace."

-Kirti

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When I was a child, I loved autumn. My father took me to the small park just near our house, and entire place was littered with dry leaves. I used to swing, and he sat by the merry-go-round, just watching me. I would giggle, trying to swing higher and higher, and my dad would smile, and tell me to be careful. Somedays, he would leave me with other kids, and talk to parents sitting on the bench. We used to do that every week on Tuesdays, and I would always wait for those days. Those sunny days, those bickering kids, and weird parents—I never found that stark happiness, that wholeness ever again.

In late evenings, after everyone could go home, he would hold my hands and we both would walk to the ice-cream parlor near the park. The evenings were blur of chocolate ice-creams, blue skies, and I would sit there, telling him what I did the entire week. From my homework to what my best friend said. Everything.

For some reason, I decided to go visit that place again. Maybe I wanted that comfort, that soft yet melancholy that always wraps around me, those plastic slides and rubber swings touching my arms, or maybe the memories.

After my dad left, I never went to that place again. Every time I went there, loneliness would follow me for days, and I was always unable to shake that feeling off, and would feel draught and despair clinging to my shoulders.

But today seemed like a better day, and for some reason, I wanted to see that place, just be near it again. I didn't care of the consequences—I had decided to be brave, to try things, and it had been a long, long time since I went even close to the park.

I reached the park, too busy in my thoughts, and was surprised to find someone already sitting there. It was quite early in the morning. It was a boy, sitting with hunched shoulders, staring at the sand, and leaves that littered the ground. The swings and slides were worn out, paint peeling off the cold metal. A slight smell of fresh air and dust filled the air, as I stared at him.

He didn't look at me, and I didn't move forward. Air of desolation—dejection, surrounded him, so strong that I took a few steps back. He seemed familiar, and even now I can't remember where I had seen him. Leaning against the cold plastic slide, I started at my soles, watching it hide beneath the orange leaves.

The air felt so fresh, and I can still remember how cold wind felt against my cheeks, how cold air felt sharp against my nose, and how sun gleamed against my bare hands. It was just beautiful.

I stood there for a few moments, remembering every time I had been there. With my father. It didn't stung so much today, rather it felt nostalgic. With a small trace of smile, I left that place. For the first time, in a long long time, I felt different. Better?

Maybe it was the crunching of leaves, or chirping of birds, or warm smile from ladies, or even the white flowers that dotted the perimeter, the place had somehow, somehow managed to lift my spirits.

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Kirti grips the old journal tightly. She had written this a year ago, yet know it seems so simple, as if there was nothing to worry about. The worn out edges, the crinkled paper, the ink smudges, they remind her of her childhood, her dreams, her aspirations, and most of all, happiness. Stark, bold happiness, the one that wasn't defined by limits, the one so stark, so bold, that even now it makes her smile. 

Her sister screams her name, and she sighs, closing the journal. She would come back to it later. Maybe, maybe, reading it after all these years, distract herself from the results that would arrive tomorrow. 

The one that decides her fate.