When IB (grandson) was going back to Houston, after a month’s stay here during the summer holidays, I kept getting more melancholy 🙁 day by day. Sunshine was going to be missing from our lives till he got back to us next year.
A friend told me to get more photos of him to last me a year of deprivation (as if that could suffice). She thought the photos could last me an year of not seeing him.
For the first month after he left, I would look at the videos, and photographs, reliving each moment again. Slowly my heartache dulled. The photo above is a favorite one. It bounces to life on my iPhone, when I click on it. IB smiles before the photo stills.
A view from my balcony
Last night it snowed, but after an hour, or so it stopped. Most of it has disappeared since. After spending nearly three years in Houston, I have yet to acclimatize to the cold weather and snow here in Virginia.
I long for summer, it’s bitterly cold
I want the sun to smile upon me
Its’ bright rays to chase away the cold
Its’ welcoming warmth to envelope me
Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt. Not sure how to participate? Here are the steps to get started.
There was a time when we used to sleep under the sky in summers. The moon spread its heavenly cool light. The Night Queen flowers bloomed to radiate its fragrance till you could smell it into the far corners of our home.
It used to be so pleasant sleeping outside. It felt so soothing. The night sky shimmered with stars. When you woke up, you felt refreshed. It wasn’t like sleeping in a stuffy room, where you woke up still feeling tired.
Then people stopped sleeping outside. The world became a scary place. Now people fear someone will sneak over their boundary walls, and cause them harm.
Every summer my younger brother, and I would be sent to spend our summer vacation with uncle A, and his family. This changed into been sent to grandma in my teen years. At uncle’s home, my cousin Z, and I spent hours talking, playing together with dolls, Badminton, or board games.
One day Z, and I were sitting on the steps of the back verandah, when she produced a cigarette. It was already lit. She offered it to me to smoke it. I had never smoked it before. I felt it was wrong, so I refused.
She took two, three drags of it, and asked me again. I refused while she started making fun of me calling me a frightened chick. She kept badgering me. I took it from her, and inhaled the smoke. My coughing wouldn’t stop while Z stomped on the cigarette to hide the evidence as to what she was doing.
Those few moments were surreal, as if it was happening to someone else.
That was the one, and only time I touched a cigarette. I always wonder how people who are addicted to smoking can do this to themselves.
What do you love most about the city / town / place that you live in? What do you like the least about it? If you were mayor, what would be the most important problem you’d tackle? How would you tackle it?
Daily Prompt: Un canned Laughter
A misused words, a misremembered song lyric, a cream pie that just happened to be there: tell us about a time you (or someone else) said or did something unintentionally
On summer Nola was five, and Shelly seven. I would fill the large bathtub in the bathroom with cold water. Both would play with their toys there. That would leave me free to quickly finish my kitchen work.
I was halfway through when Nola came running to me, with water dripping on the floor. Her eyes had gone round, and looked as large as saucers, “Mama! Did you know? Brother has got a tail.”