I'm in an odd mood
I spent most of my life living here, in this House. This is the House I grew up in. This has always, always been my home. I seldom had friends over, and my closest sibling is four years younger than me. For a long time, I played alone. I had a fairly vibrant imagination as a child, so it didn't take much for me to keep myself occupied. Every other corner of this House hold a special memory of a game or an adventure I had on my own. A secret between the two of us: me, and the House.
In the garden, six tall fir trees stand vigil, looming over us. When the monsoon season come around, and with it the torrential downpour it's famed for, the trees would...bloom open. There's no better way to describe it. The weight of the raindrops heavy on their branches. It's one of the loveliest sights I've ever seen. A few years ago, my mother decided to chop one of them down, and though I fought for it, there was no changing her mind.
Two days ago, I started hearing talk of cutting down the other five.
This morning, a man came by with an axe.
The second one from the left once put a caterpillar in my hair. I was so traumatised, I refused to come near it again for a long time. The third one was where I hid from my sisters when we were playing hide and seek. They couldn't find me for ages. Ages I tell you. I watched them from between the branches, saw them running in and out of the House looking for me, heard them calling me, but the shadows hid me so well. We've lost many shuttlecocks to their higher branches (and in our attempts to retrieve them, we've lost a few racquets as well) From my parent's bedroom on the first floor, I used to watch birds make their nests in them. It's fascinating how the trees can look so green from the outside, but so very brown if you peered between the branches.
Every time the walls are repainted, or new roof is installed, and even more so when a tree is cut down, I feel like I'm losing more and more of the House, and with it, more and more of my childhood. I wont be living here much longer, I know this, but I suppose I've always assumed that the House will remain here, and the balustrade where I got my head stuck in as I tried to squeeze through between it, and the large drain where I hid as I attempted to rear garden snails in a cardboard box, or that wall where I used to jump off of while pretending I was a ninja (and looking back now, could have easily killed myself doing so) would always be there. The House is my secret keeper, in her garden my younger self's remains lay buried.
She's getting repainted, and parts of her are getting renovated soon. Is it silly to be so attached to something like trees and walls?
In the garden, six tall fir trees stand vigil, looming over us. When the monsoon season come around, and with it the torrential downpour it's famed for, the trees would...bloom open. There's no better way to describe it. The weight of the raindrops heavy on their branches. It's one of the loveliest sights I've ever seen. A few years ago, my mother decided to chop one of them down, and though I fought for it, there was no changing her mind.
Two days ago, I started hearing talk of cutting down the other five.
This morning, a man came by with an axe.
The second one from the left once put a caterpillar in my hair. I was so traumatised, I refused to come near it again for a long time. The third one was where I hid from my sisters when we were playing hide and seek. They couldn't find me for ages. Ages I tell you. I watched them from between the branches, saw them running in and out of the House looking for me, heard them calling me, but the shadows hid me so well. We've lost many shuttlecocks to their higher branches (and in our attempts to retrieve them, we've lost a few racquets as well) From my parent's bedroom on the first floor, I used to watch birds make their nests in them. It's fascinating how the trees can look so green from the outside, but so very brown if you peered between the branches.
Every time the walls are repainted, or new roof is installed, and even more so when a tree is cut down, I feel like I'm losing more and more of the House, and with it, more and more of my childhood. I wont be living here much longer, I know this, but I suppose I've always assumed that the House will remain here, and the balustrade where I got my head stuck in as I tried to squeeze through between it, and the large drain where I hid as I attempted to rear garden snails in a cardboard box, or that wall where I used to jump off of while pretending I was a ninja (and looking back now, could have easily killed myself doing so) would always be there. The House is my secret keeper, in her garden my younger self's remains lay buried.
She's getting repainted, and parts of her are getting renovated soon. Is it silly to be so attached to something like trees and walls?