I wish I were a child . . .

My friend and I were shopping for her children’s clothes for Eid, yesterday evening. Whilst we were busy trying to match colours and look for the correct sizes, the kids decided to ‘help themselves’ to some toys in the shop. They, brother and sister, each had picked out a toy that they had decided that their mother would pay for along with their clothes.

Their mother reminded them of how naughty they had been earlier – Hamza for not sharing with his sister Maryam, the chocolate cornflake thingy he had made at school; and Maryam for disobeying her mother when she was asked to sit at the back of the car, in her car seat.

“You are not getting these toys; consider this your punishment,” reminded their mother.

The children started to wail, but they were forced out of the shop, sobbing and crying as if life were about to end, right there, right then. The kids carried on crying for about half a mile, with their mother apologizing to me the entire time (I don’t know why she did that; she is a mother, she has the right to be firm with her children, how else will they learn?).

Hamza remembered his half eaten chocolate cornflake thingy that he had made and reached for it, eating it with pleasure. All of a sudden, he cried out,

“Look Maryam, look at that house, its so funny!”

Maryam looked outside the window to the block of flats, and she started to laugh; they both started to laugh, the laughter which came to kiss away the tears that had been streaming down their soft cheeks, previously.

“See how quickly they forget?”asked my friend.

I wish I were a child . . . how easy life would be, to be able to just in an instant forget the pain of memories which once were so beautiful, bringing so much joy?

(misty, water-coloured) Memories

Went to see a relative tonight. As I was going upstairs noticed that the canvas print they have at the top of the stairs has started to crack. It is a group photograph of the family. The girls were 7 & 8 at the time and their parents were so young, as I remember them, years ago. As a family, they will probably remember the day that that photograph was taken. I do. I also remember how the canvas was back then – so new, flawless. It remained such for a long time, and I remember admiring that image when it used to be displayed in their living room before they gave it a new location and put it right at the top of the stairs when they moved into their new house.

The people in the photograph grew older and with them so did the canvas. As I looked closely, I could see cracks in the image, all over it in fact. Sooner or later they may even get rid of it because it will become nothing more than junk, not pristine enough to have on display.

Memories too start off in our minds, fresh, vivid, real and true. With time though, sure enough they will begin to fade and where this does not happen, the canvas upon which we place those images, that begins to wither away too in it’s own way. When I was younger, I used to keep memorabilia from times that I wanted to capture in my mind, so that I wouldnt forget ever. I realised that as I got older, they just ended up cluttering my space and so I had to get rid of them.