Years ago, miles away

I got tucked away again. This time to a familiar place; I haven't been here for so long, and it seems today it’s been years ago, even miles ago, since the last time I visited my hometown. The house is looking the same as I left it. Even though deep inside I know and I am sure the bombs have destroyed it and left nothing but crumbs of it. The old house was burned to the ground; we escaped just minutes before the great disaster. I knew this much to be true; I saw it with my own eyes.

As I walk in, I hear old footsteps, abandoned there with all my memories. I can hear the remains of laughter, and sense that familiar smell, sweet like apple pie, mixing with the same old spots of black mould, black mould that migrates, expands, and takes over everything, just the same way the war did.

We used to be a family before; we all could see each other day after day. We got tired of it sometimes, but now destiny has separated us; some are gone to unknown places, some are gone to places we can't reach, and this life only teaches me mysteries I cannot solve; it only makes me grow older, makes me grow in solitude and disbelief. I saw my sister the last time I got tucked away, her curls as wild as the wind, her big brown eyes full of blue, and I was hoping to see her again this time, but she is not here; this time there is no one here.

Memories come and go. I stare at my hands, and they haven’t aged one day. I can barely reach the counter; I want to bury my face in my mom’s flower skirt right now. I want her to hold my tiny hand and say it will all be alright one more time.

And sometimes, I remember, the sky turned pink and purple, and a chain of red fell right before the horrid sound that hurt my ears was heard. And it was oh, so beautiful to see, because my childish eyes would just see beauty in everything.

I drag my feet in and open the door that makes a cracking sound. I look inside the cabinet to find nothing but mouse feces. It’s been a while since we were able to afford food, and everything that arrives is gone before any rodent can devour it. The decay meets the warmth. I look around and see the ghost of my beloved ones, or I wish I saw them. Some sitting down, some standing, some even dancing, my grandmother in her wheelchair, depressed because age took her legs away; she used to be a great dancer, now she camouflages herself into these walls, she waits patiently for tomorrow, she waits patiently every today.

I clench my fists and jaw and repeat, between my teeth, "This is my happy house." I say it over and over, and when I open my eyes, I am still there. The tablecloth my mother set rests on the table, with Thanksgiving motifs, orange around the house as it was her favourite colour, a bit of red, and my room with the sill painted light blue. I always imagined the sky was in front of me at night, that I could sleep just on the grass, stare into the abyss, see a shooting star. I knew imagination kept my sisters and me alive, while my mother knew my father wasn't going to come back. He was a soldier, you know; he died for a country that wouldn’t have died for him.

I can see my bed still undone, just the same way I left it. I sit on it, then I slowly lay down, and I breathe into the feeling of rest, a feeling I want to keep with me. I remember holding my mom’s hand and telling her: “I want to keep you forever”; she would just smile and stare. I hold my pillow and hug it tightly, my pillow that holds all the dreams I've ever had.

Tucked away, I was tucked away to the place where the grass doesn't grow anymore, but I still see the marigolds stretching up, the poppies, the forget-me-nots, and the house tells me in a peculiar, despairing whisper: forget me not, or I’ll forget myself. And I sit there, waiting to see what comes next. The big three still in front of me haven’t changed a leaf; they are still green and bright. The lilacs are blooming; the robins make nests on the shed. Sadly, I see that the hatched eggs have fallen from it, and now those poor newborns have no chance to see their first night. The sun is shining, and I hear in the distance the children playing; it’s the school next door to our house,

I hear the water flowing in the bathroom sink, and I get closer, this time with a fast pace, but I’m not there anymore; I did… I got tucked away this time to the seaside.

The seagulls shout at me, and I'm unbothered; the waves come and go, and I'm dazzled, puzzled; I look and cannot see that this familiar place is just pieces of me. I sink my feet into the sand, anchor myself, pick up a shell and bring it to my ear to hear the sea, and it whispers words the human ear cannot comprehend. I always thought I was going to marry the sea.

The waves come to shore; they drag everything with them and go back into the depths again; they will not give back what they take; they will not come back when you expect them to.

A fort stands in front of me, made of sand and shaped by the ocean; I can touch the walls, golden and damp; I hold the sand between my fists, it escapes, and I try to catch it; it’s hopeless, it’s pointless; when it’s gone, there is no turning back. And there I go again… I say to myself, this is my happy house. I say it over and over, and right now, again… I am miles away, years away, and the war, the war is not over, and it did, just like the sea, drag everything with it, leaving nothing but just me.