I wonder if the houses I have previously lived in would remember me.
Would the ceilings remember the times I erupted in celebration? Would the floors remember the tears shed during times of distress? Would the windows remember my yearning for a journey, and would the doors remember my yearning to stay indoors? Would the kitchens remember my never-ending hunger, and would the balconies remember my slowly-diminishing anger? Would the cupboards remember the scent of my clothes, and would the racks remember the stories in my books? Would the ceiling-fans remember my exhaustions, and would the night lamps remember my dreams?
Maybe they would. Maybe they wouldn't.
But I am sure that a visit to these houses will help me remember a part of myself that has been comfortably forgotten in the pursuit of the present. The visit might even help me remember some dreams I have forgotten, some promises I have broken, and some relationships I have left behind.
Isn't that the scary part of facing our past? Along with our growth, it also shows us the price we have had to pay. The price of progress.
"The magnitude of a progress is gauged by the greatness of the sacrifice that it requires," said Friedrich Nietzsche.
Some of us can gauge our progress by the houses we have left behind. Perhaps, also by the dreams and promises and relationships that are slowly peeling off the long forgotten walls.
Would the ceilings remember the times I erupted in celebration? Would the floors remember the tears shed during times of distress? Would the windows remember my yearning for a journey, and would the doors remember my yearning to stay indoors? Would the kitchens remember my never-ending hunger, and would the balconies remember my slowly-diminishing anger? Would the cupboards remember the scent of my clothes, and would the racks remember the stories in my books? Would the ceiling-fans remember my exhaustions, and would the night lamps remember my dreams?
Maybe they would. Maybe they wouldn't.
But I am sure that a visit to these houses will help me remember a part of myself that has been comfortably forgotten in the pursuit of the present. The visit might even help me remember some dreams I have forgotten, some promises I have broken, and some relationships I have left behind.
Isn't that the scary part of facing our past? Along with our growth, it also shows us the price we have had to pay. The price of progress.
"The magnitude of a progress is gauged by the greatness of the sacrifice that it requires," said Friedrich Nietzsche.
Some of us can gauge our progress by the houses we have left behind. Perhaps, also by the dreams and promises and relationships that are slowly peeling off the long forgotten walls.
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