I remember life back at my parents’ house when I was a kid. It was prison of inescapable dread. Every time I passed through the threshold of the ramshackle dwelling, I found it impossible to dodge the waves of immense agony that awaited me. The air throughout the entire house was congested with the shabby remarks of my father and the barbaric shrieks of my mother. And when they held their tongues the fierce silence still lingered awkwardly in the air. Even to this day, I never discovered the subject of their explosive disputes. I guess they are just those kinds of people who can’t be helped. I always tried to bring positivity to our infrequent conversations but the opaqueness of their eyes and their rigid expressions did not allow for it.
There was a day, however, when I discovered an escape from the dread. Loitering up the stairs one afternoon, I noticed a room at the end of the dismal hallway that I never paid much attention to before. Through the open door, sparkling daylight crashed onto the crooked floorboards, beckoning me to come. I edged toward the glowing room and was welcomed by a sweet, earthy fragrance, which I then realized came from the open window. I approached the fluttering coral curtains and let the silky material weave itself through my fingers. That was the first time that the voices of my parents were muted by the calm cooing of the July winds. The walls, which were usually blotched with mixtures of rusted hues, gleamed with iridescent sulphur and I could almost taste the tender crispness of the fresh air. The stress and uneasiness that cluttered my mind diminished, making space for my own thoughts. And as I looked up into the sun, the vivid serenity of its warmth whisked through my nose and cradled my insides.
Spending time in that special room became part of my daily routine. I brought my only companion, the rag doll that my grandmother made for me, and we both sat for long hours by the window, allowing the radiance of the room to rejuvenate us. It faced an open field behind my house, which tapered into a lush, green forest. From up there, I enjoyed observing whoever passed by. Sometimes the older kids from my street swooped down the shapely slopes with their bicycles. Their bubbly chuckles rang out like music. And as I grasped the silk curtains, the gentle flow of fabric across my hands almost made me feel as if I was riding with them, without a care in the world. Even on rainy days, I was so accustomed to the comfort of the room that, I was even pleased with the rhythmic beating of the delicate raindrops and the dewy scent it brought.
As I think back, that room really helped me pull through when my parents couldn’t. I would do anything to go back again; to hear the delicate whispers of the summer breeze, stroke the gentle curtains, and let the enchanting sunlight carry me away from my troubles.