Waking up. Growing up.Written by Chela Davison
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Saturday, 29 October 2011 20:12
28th August, 2008
Today I sit in my small but peaceful room reading and looking out of my open window. Occasionally pigeons fly past and fleetingly speak to me of arriving, existing and leaving no trace. I watch my cat Willow jump onto my bed and purr while he paws the duvet before he falls asleep. I listen to inspiring and informative audio while eating then return to reading. Feeling a call I pause and return to the scene outside the window.
Leaves softly rustling in the wind, sounds coming and going, some pleasant and some not. Emotions coming and going, some pleasant, some not. Thoughts, some useful and some not, some I tense up around, some I don’t. The white plum blossom has already disappeared, fallen and melted like spring snow.
A memory comes to me of when I was a child playing with toys. This toy, that toy, toys breaking, toys becoming boring and what I thought were unattainable toys were attained. They faded away and are now completely forgotten.
I sat one day with my toys looking at the little figure in front of me, the latest one, and I saw that not even the latest one will make me happy.
I then sat and looked at the new pair of trainers that only the day before excited me so much to have that I couldn’t stop running around in them, up and down the stairs, up and down the road, or simply jumping in them to feel the air bubble in the sole. I sat and looked at those trainers and became sad as I started to see through them, knowing my feet would outgrow them.
This little boy in my memory tastes these objects around him as unflavoured cold porridge. He sees his world fading and draining before him. He sits on the carpet with his toys and from an ache a question begins to form.
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