Calisa

Dominica

17| Just a dreamer who exists solely in her words because the real world is too damaging of her fragile nature. her biggest dream is to escape her tiny island and let the world read her works

from a child who felt at home in your arms

July 31, 2020

FREE WRITING

1
To The House I Grew Up In,

I visited you a couple weeks ago, or maybe it was months. I can't seem to keep my days straight anymore. The outside looked different but it wasn't such a major change that I didn't recognize the place I grew up. There was still that gate that faced the street that we would tire ourselves out on. The house was still painted the same colour and the same number of windows were there. But the flowers at the front were missing. Those hedges that hid the front yard from the outside world, they were gone. They were gone and I didn't know when they disappeared. There weren't any flowers outside the fence surrounded by rocks anymore. Maybe it's because she's dead. She was the one who planted all those flowers.

But I was fine with those simple changes because everything else seemed the same. It still seemed like that house I grew up in. That house we would stay up in when there was no electricity and tell stories, stories that scared me at a young age. We would play monopoly and card games and play cooking and bingo. We were kids and we were happy and we never thought of growing up. And the house didn't seem like it grew up either. The house was still cleaned from top to bottom every Christmas and the windows still strung with lights. There was still that tiny television and that fish tank. The tank is empty now but there were fishes in there back then and it was fun taking care of them.

That house holds so many memories of a young girl who dreamed with her sisters and cousin, and it was a fine house. I can still remember that one cousin coming to visit and he chased us up and down with a lizard. My great grandmother scolded us for running about. I miss her now. I regret not crying like everyone else. But it's too late for that now. I remember walking along the side of the house past the candles she laid out in commemoration of the dead, I don't think anyone lights those candles anymore. 

That day whenever ago I visited you, I almost cried when entering the backyard. The backyard that was once filled with the vibrant yellow and orange flowers that took up so much space. If I closed my eyes I could almost hear those bees buzzing around those flowers. Strangely enough, it was because of those flowers I got stung by a bee. The dog that once took up residence in your yard died a couple years ago. And that's sad to me because I remember being so scared of that dog. And there were two cherry trees I can distinctly remember but there is only one now and it doesn't live up to its former glory. There aren't as many mango trees, those trees I was so scared to climb. No creeping vines of passionfruit that we would pick to make juice in our little toy blenders.

I love you. I really do. But there's no more of those kids who would sit together and have so much fun. We won't do puzzles or play cooking or tell stories anymore. We all grew up and we're not the same but we maybe all miss the old you. I miss the flowers mostly even though I hated them back then. They were a symbol of my childhood. 

But somethings didn't change at all. There's still that same rusty pull-up set that we would try to use but couldn't. There's still the dog house even though there is no dog now. The shed from so long ago that I can never remember entering still stands proud in all its rusty glory. But now there's trees I never climbed and plants I never picked. Flowers that were never present when I was just a child. And maybe that signifies that we have grown past those children who loved the world. Instead of orange and yellow flowers, there are roses, roses that were never a part of who we are.

But I thank you for raising us. You raised so many of us and loved us. You would watch us laugh and cry and scream and play. You would watch as we made friends with the neighbours children and teased each other endlessly. You made us who we are even though we left each other ages ago. And there are no more of those flowers or those trees but it doesn't belong to us anymore. You haven't belonged to us in a long time.

From a child who felt at home in your arms

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  • July 31, 2020 - 3:53pm (Now Viewing)

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1 Comment
  • Paisley Blue

    Gorgeous. So poetically written and descriptive. I absolutely love this!


    15 days ago