I remember.

I remember afternoons in our first house, filled with childish play and dodging the “authorities” who were telling me to go to sleep instead. I remember the scent of the living room, the coolness of the terrace around midday where one could just relax without a care in the world.

I remember the first move. The new house, unfinished yet brimming with promises. I remember the various changes that were made to maximize the space. I remember the new kitchen being constructed. The continuous pounding in the roof and floor making my head ache. I remember the dreams being dreamt and fulfilled within its extended walls. I was happy. I was sad. I missed the old ways. The family prayers that were said in the newly-tiled sala bonding us the way sunday-night-outs never could.

I remember the packing. It was such a cruel world, I thought then. I remember the trucks taking all of our things away. I remember walking slowly, knowing that it would be the last time.

I remember the new house. I remember the first storm. The second floor was flooded, the first, quite dry. I remember sleeping in the only bedroom in the third floor. Mornings were cold, nights were full of bugs attracted to the light. I enjoyed the solitude. I remember being up there, in the “tower”, reading to my heart’s content. The calls of “Dinner!” went unheard until someone goes up the stairs. I loved my new home. I am longing to go back to the one I left.

I remember my ultimate move. To a dorm, 4 or so hours away. I remember choosing which clothes to bring or to leave behind. There were so many bags, so many things to carry, yet I know I am leaving a half of myself. I remember being the last one to turn to bed that night. Casting the house a look and trying to take it all in, wanting to cast the image of a friendly place in my mind.

I remember the adjustment. I remember the tears, can still taste them. I remember being okay. I remember being not.

I remember so many things. So many houses have withered, so many homes were left. The only piece of feeling connects all these. DISLOCATION, heightened by this post, by the way I am remembering the old places now.

I must get away from the memories. This is not the time for them.