It was an excellent vacation. I came home after six long months and was dying to spend some time with my family. This is probably the deal with the young people like us – initially, we try to distance ourselves from our parents to exercise our new-found freedom and when we see our friends’ parents on the hospital bed we remember ours and all of a sudden we crave for their company like never before. Well, this exactly has not been the case with me. You see, I was born an introvert and were limited to only a few close friends and my idea of relaxation was a nice book and a hot cup of something. I never was a person who would go out and ‘party all night’ or ‘get high’ but rather get low and drown myself into my own melancholic state of being, appreciating every moment of it. Since I do not usually indulge myself with the outside world I had/have enough time to give it to my family. So I never really had the phase where I retracted back to my parents getting tired of my friends. I have always been a constant part of my family at most times and this vacation gave me the liberty to open up my bottled down problems from the last six months and contemplate peacefully within the four walls of my room in which I grew up in.
I read a few novels, tried to review some, sketched a few eyes perfecting what they call hyperrealism art, which all made my vacation a wonderful and a productive one. But it was ‘the basket‘ that made it particularly memorable. It was a cheap, badly finished basket, the kinds which you might never buy if given any other alternative. It was made of a bad plastic and its light red colour can easily get lighter in a week if constantly kept under the sun, the kind that might crumble down with a slight jump.
That was probably one reason why my mum decided to give it to a five-year-old me who was throwing a tantrum to keep her toys in it, also because the basket cannot be used for any better purpose. Some twelve years later when I spotted the same basket amidst old textbooks and magazines, hidden by badminton rackets with torn threads and unplayed board games, it brought back a rush of memories leaving me to feel nostalgic for the next five minutes which lead to a recollection of a series of memories. And like any sensible human, all I could do was clear up the books and put down the rackets and rescue the basket that was staring at me for quite some time now. Dusting aside the dirt which had accumulated in the last few years, I carefully turned around the plastic knob and put aside the crispy plastic lid. And I saw there…the good old days that I had left behind me, the toys that I played with day and night, the tiny utensils where I cooked food for mum, some shredded paper bits in a bowl which were supposed to be my ‘fried rice’. I found those tiny shoes and dresses which belonged to my Barbie dolls, the ones whom I used to invite for dinner along with my mum.
I stood at this point looking back at my innocence, my untainted and carefree soul and my lost childhood. And I realised how important it is let yourself feel nostalgic once in a while. Go ahead, dig out your old albums, read your old diaries, visit your old dolls and toys, recreate your memories. I know the past can never make any difference to your present but it’s the emotions associated with your past that you sometimes need to revisit to rediscover your roots and the purpose of your existence.
At the end of the vacation, I took back with me more than just the paintings and the knowledge I acquired from the books I read. I refreshed my memories with old albums and toys which I want to keep around forever, and not lose them in the abyss.