Posts tagged Memories
Dark to Light

There’s a picnic table in my sunroom, an old pine table notched together with wooden pegs, and two benches worn from over sixty years of sitting, first in my childhood kitchen, then more recently here, in my own house, all these years later, where I take my breakfast, to sit and munch and gaze at the out of doors, the backyard, and all its animal busyness that comes with early mornings.

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Where I'm From

I'm from Arlington, Virginia, right across the river from Washington, D.C. You could walk to the end of my street and be able to see the National Mall, At least, that's what you would be able to do if there weren't so many trees blocking the view. The actual town wasn't particularly memorable to me, but I still recognize the same old CVS Pharmacy and Safeway, as well as my dad's hometown about ten minutes away, whenever I come to see my grandparents. While the proximity to Tyson's corner always made the area a hotspot, it's all far more built up now, prime real estate drawing office towers and traffic that the unprepared town buckles under. The only parts that really mattered to me were the little playground down the street and Sam's house, both of which are untouched.

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Where I am from

I am from Richmond, Virginia. Richmond is known throughout the easter region of the US as a growing city, VCU, restaurants, the James River, and more. Yes, this is the place where I am from. However, I view Richmond differently than most people, most who have never even been to Richmond. This is the place where I was born, took my first steps, spoke my first words, and grew up. Richmond is the place where all of my family and friends live. It is the place where I have made thousands of good memories; memories that I will never forget. Richmond, to me, is a collection of different memories.

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Mist

I seek to obtain a reconciliation with the days spent in my room reading stories that my uncle left behind after his disappearance. They seem so distant in my memories and only one still sticks to mind. I think its title is Mist. Author: Anonymous. 

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Lumiere

Early morning: we heat the fire in the kitchen, and the man who had the flashlight gives me small chunks of wood to throw into an open pit in the ground. He whisks the lava, creating a mesmerizing effect that dissipates into mere scent, inviting and coarse at the same time. His wife brings over chicken soup in a pot, dented so much it seemed as if the creature was still fighting its way out. She tells me that the man without the flashlight killed a chicken for this, and Baba says thank you. Apparently, it’s custom to do so, but I can’t help look at the chickens in the garden, strutting through the caked mud glittered with seeds. When Baba said he woke up to the squawks and fluttering of wings, I’m surprised I didn’t hear even the shadow of an echo. Breakfast is delicious, I later realize.

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