Maa called today to say, “I am selling our old bungalow that you grew up in.
It’s too much upkeep for an old woman. You should come by, visit and see
if there is anything that holds a memory, anything that you would like to keep.”
I listened in sad silence for the house was not just a house that I grew up in.
It was my haven, my refuge; it was the site of my childhood dreams, my escape.
“I’ll come this week, “I promised hanging up the phone, remembrance running deep.
I went back home, soon as I could, the memories tugging at my heartstrings.
The house seemed to mock, “Remember me?” as I entered my old room.
There is stood, six feet tall in the corner, just where I remembered leaving it.
I went and stood in front of it, ripped off its protective sheath and looked
Into its heart for the answers that I knew I had come back home to find.
I saw her then, my twenty something self, all eager to conquer the world.
“What became of you? Where did you go? What happened?”I asked her aloud.
“You had dreams, you had plans. What became of it all?” I questioned, distraught.
She looked back at me, smiled and said, “You happened to yourself.”
Realization dawned and I acknowledged that I indeed could only blame myself.
In that moment youth and maturity collided and resolved a new path to take,
For in that moment I remembered how long ago, a ‘ME’ I had resolved to make.
Image – Philipp Cordts via unsplash