This is a weird feeling. I sit and write from my childhood room. I relive memories, not sure where it takes me. When I sit again in this chair a year from now or so, where will I be? I'll be in another role. I am unsure what kind of game this is. What is even more confusing is that in parallel I feel it so strongly.
I wake up under the wooden roof slope, laying on the side and staring at the colorful stickers on my bed. It’s a brand new day, I turn around and the sky is blue. My sister is still sleeping in the bed right on the other side of the room. There are a couple of toys on the floor, mainly Legos and some of my favorite dolls. I glance at the partitioning and see a couple of felt pens sticking out of the wood. You could say that it looks like an unfinished house but that wouldn’t be right, there is just the cover missing. Good for us because we can put all sort of stuff in there. When I put my finger on the wood, it feels raw and real.
Mum is such a sweetheart, she’s there whenever my sister or I need her. Well, we don’t really need her I have to say. When I grew up, I’ll make sure that people should be able to do whatever they want to do. Why on earth do we need to finish up playing in the sand at my cousin’s when the sun is still shining? It’s so much fun, my heart is racing and we are all so much in the game. It’s sick. Sure, watching TV shows like the Adventures of the Gummi Bears or Tom & Jerry is magical in its own sense, but there is nothing like making up stories and being part of the plot. It just feels better.
We play all sorts of things, building cities in the sand, just one kind. My best-loved thing is the hayloft probably. There is this rope hanging from the top, and what we would do is swing from one very high corner through space. Omg, just thinking about it makes me want to go back this weekend. You feel it everywhere, that tingly feeling of adrenalin.
See, I have so many aunts and uncles – for quite a while I didn’t even know how to count them. One of my grandmas had triplets! Both of my grandmas have an amazing vegetable garden but they differ. The one garden is bigger, has so many potatoes, carrots and all sorts of berries. I can’t wait for summer to come soon and go there, I’m sure no one will notice when I eat all the gooseberries. My mouth already waters, just thinking about it.
These are the early years. I don’t really wonder what I’ll be when I’m older. It’s like my brain is not able to go there, I’m just so emerged in what is going on today. Maybe it’s because I don’t really know what time is. But does it matter? I’m just so busy having fun, experiencing all these little stories, there is not much time looking back into the past. Ok, ok – I’m with you when you say that I’ve not yet accumulated that many experiences but regardless. Someone once told me that grown-ups are always complaining so much, they probably travel too far from the NOW. I don’t know and I don’t care.
I hear sounds coming out of the kitchen. Dad just came home, there’s sawdust in his fuzzy hair. We’re having dinner in a second. Yummy, can’t wait for a slice of raisin bread with Nutella.
Years later I come across the words from Peter Handke.
He says, “If a nation loses its storytellers, it loses its childhood.”
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