My Childhood Home

Alone in the shadows © Lalarukh
Alone beneath the shadows © Lalarukh


With her back leaning against the wall, she sits down on the ground. It feels cold to her palms. Despite the fact that it is really hot out there, with sun at its peak in the noon, and with almost forty five degrees temperature, there is a row of trees behind this wall that keeps the passage way where she sits a bit cool with their shadows. And she has her history with deep shadows and darkness.

It’s ironic. Right in front of her, with the opposite wall she used to make a home with long sheets and pillows in her childhood. She’d make a kitchen with small plastic utensils and some snacks and then invite her little brothers to have tea. And she had this pink box with small clippings of extra cloth drops and pieces of laces and threads and a needle and she’d sew these things together to make random designs and what not. And she’d sit there all day busy in her little chores. It felt amazing.

The pink box is gone along with her childhood. Her brothers are grown up and living far away places. Those tiny plastic utensils, her mother safely placed at the shelf in her room along side other useless items she used to play with. Her mother dusts these daily but never ever thinks of throwing or giving away. Mothers. They have their own ways.

A bird chirps from the trees above. Their is a mud pot placed right beside her, filled with water for the birds to drink. It is really hot out there. This house, it used to be filled with laughter and shouting and excitement where a strange kind of silence and sadness resides now. Her mother and father, they have grown old. They look tired when they smile.

Tear, a tear rolls down her cheek and falls on the ground, cold enough in the presence of summer’s bright sun. May be its the tree’s. It’s their way of grieving. Over beautiful lost memories and a cheerless future. Or may be it’s the coldness from inside of her heart. It’s dead, after putting up with so much pain and faking happiness for so long, it’s finally dead. She is scared, this home with all it’s memories and charm, what if it wakes up her heart again? But then dead can’t be woken up, can they?

She thinks of her room. It feels haunted to her. She remembers when she was little, she had an art wall in her room. She would make drawings,paintings,scribbles and art and then stick those to the wall. Her drawings and art work improved as she grew up and it was all there at the wall which she was proud of. And then once while the house had to get painted, she had to remove her art from the wall with her own hands. She was sad. She was a teenager at that time. A long cupboard with lots of shelves was then placed alongside her wall. That cupboard now contains fragments of her childhood and they get dusted daily by her mother.

Those albums with her baby photos, school functions and their family day outs, that car which saw her and her siblings grow up from children to teenagers and then adults, that same TV they used to watch cartoons on, the fans the ceilings the walls, nothing’s changed, everything haunts her. The memories are beautiful. It’s the fact that nothing like this can happen in future that wrings the heart and wrinkles the soul.

She weeps. Head in her lap, hands wrapped around the knees she weeps. Her shadowed self, this mud pot, all these trees and those countless memories that crowded in her mind and flowed through her veins while sitting here, this scene, it would freeze in her eyes and would be a valuable treasure for the rest of her life to come, away from her home.

That day, she buried herself right there, in the passage way, beneath the shadows and under the weight of good old childhood memories to live inside them forever.




28 thoughts on “My Childhood Home

  1. Each memory moved my heart as if it was my own! Their embracing power made my heart smile happily, sadly and it made a happiness to blossom within! The selfless love alive within you will always birth needed joy at the right time…because your soul is genuine. Wonderful message in your embracing words my sister…God bless you and your family!

  2. Oh man…what a beautiful melancholic blend of nostalgia ! I kind of related with it because i hold the same sentimental value to my childhood home where I grew up. I never could understand this emotional connection with homes and places before until I experienced it in full force myself. Your post also brought back memories for me. Both bittersweet. Especially the line about how the heart is dead but expecting it to maybe come back to life yet questioning if dead can come back to life, struck a chord with me! Loved the post Lala ❤️

    • Haye, I am glad Zee that my post could bring back memories of your own childhood. It feels sometimes sweet to just sit and dive into that nostalgia.Thank you so much for reading and complementing and also relating to my post. Love you !

      • Love you too. All the credit goes to your writing. A good writer’s quality is that he or she should be able to make the reader feel what he/she is writing and you did so brilliantly !

  3. WeLL.. noW.. mY forever
    friend.. Lala Rukh.. liGht Love..
    is in the MoVinG.. CoNnecTinG
    and CreaTinG of LiFe and you speak
    to all these qualities of life in the reminisce
    you provide here from your youthful days of family..
    and surely the warm and fuzzy feeling
    of family is what we want
    to retain from birth
    to death
    ah.. extended
    villages of the human
    history.. where all raised
    the child as prize over ownership
    of human slavery.. oh.. the days of
    human nomads.. where once the village
    traveled to escape the negative environmental
    elements that would take the village away from
    subsistence and survival.. now.. the days of nuclear
    families even less than two to one.. living
    in apartments of AC with
    porches never
    and couches
    that have become
    places where electronic
    screens sing beyond
    the lost voices
    of humans
    to each other
    in SonG of Voice
    and DancE of non-verbal
    communication as even a flesh
    and blood smile IS A hUman Dance..
    mY friEnd.. so we reach out on these electronic
    devices in prayer.. hopes.. wishes.. dreams.. and reminiscing
    to days of old.. we wish to reclaim as liGht and Love once again
    for the warm and fuzzy touch of the human village dancing
    ’round campfires of moon-lit nights.. hand-in-hand.. with
    each oTheR and aLL that iS as anature beyond
    as God all.. deep deep.. inside.. outside..
    above.. so below and all around..
    sMiLes mY FriEnd.. online..
    visual images..
    and words that
    make the warm and fuzzy
    human connection in all the
    pro-social emotions that spRing
    forth from art of hUman iMagiNation
    and creatiVity is all liGht and Love that
    refuses to yield to entropy as liGht moveS on…
    timeless.. ageless.. no matter worn of flesh against
    environmental elements.. the soul can grow unlimited
    younger my friend no matter how old it is.. as bathed in liGhT
    of the greaTesT gifts of hUman Love.. so sure.. liGht goes and
    comes back.. and it makes me so happy.. to see you come back
    again in jUST the span of a few days to spread some more force
    as Love..
    Happy liGht
    my fRieNd Love
    travels far.. far far.. to another
    galaxy of hUman heARt.. spiRit
    and SoUL groWing Ocean whOle with God onE..
    Oh.. yeah..
    and i hope
    you enjoy
    the liGht Force
    SonG by J. Lo..
    with Love..
    and F as an..
    alpha numerical
    number 6 of golden
    spiraling sixes forevermorenow..:)

  4. memories,
    worth what if anything,
    many things, the subject,
    objects of our affection,
    found wanting, air of defection,
    fear of emotional infection,
    to run away, lose broken hearted souls,
    some live lives with one goal,
    soul or no soul, memories do not matter,
    desires to be catered, hurt anyone but self,
    death blow dealt, to people once called beloved

    • Yes my love, you are right. I’m lucky to have these beautiful memories with me. But they fill us with sadness too along with pleasure when we think about them. Thanks so very much for reading and appreciating. Love xx

  5. Awe. Some. Woah.
    You know it feels sad, when I see people being nostalgic about their home and childhood. But then they are lucky enough to have lived at one place for all their lives. Not everyone gets that chance. Anyway, keep writing, I’d been missing your blogs.

Please share your thoughts, I value them !

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