karasama is a boy who signed up 2 years ago. He owns like 1,622 Jpops and was last seen here about 5 months ago
It's like looking into a mirror 6 light years away - everything coming back to me extends beyond 6 years into the past. Resistant wall stains commemorate my paint fight encounter with best-friends-to-be neighbour Michelle; winding corridors rouse recollections of its once labyrinthine nature; mere blank walls remind me of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey games on my birthday... As I stood in the openness of the living room, the amalgamation of memories brought intense early-childhood nostalgia wh...Read more (641 words more)
It's like looking into a mirror 6 light years away - everything coming back to me extends beyond 6 years into the past. Resistant wall stains commemorate my paint fight encounter with best-friends-to-be neighbour Michelle; winding corridors rouse recollections of its once labyrinthine nature; mere blank walls remind me of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey games on my birthday... As I stood in the openness of the living room, the amalgamation of memories brought intense early-childhood nostalgia which overwhelmed me. I had never experienced anything like this before. It was as if a crushing force had captured my mind and forced me to relate what I was seeing with long-forgotten memories.
It had been 6 years since I moved.
I remember a reluctant to leave the home in which I was brought up, a shelter where all miseries could be replaced with love from my parents, when dad announced to us that we would be moving houses to somewhere up north-east, into the city of Sydney. I wasn't sure where we were going and was, of course, wary of leaving a landmark where my childhood centred. I felt anger at a need to separate from my best friends and school mates in the area, and even more so I knew I would miss the quiet, harmonious life in my rural town. I had heard about the inability to leave home without locking your doors and windows, the danger of walking around the streets at night, the abundance of thieves, criminals who ran rampant along urban streets.
I didn't want to leave...
I didn't want change...
Yet at the same time turmoil fought within me between this reluctance and a curiosity with what a new surrounding would bring me. Was it true that magnificent edifices marked both side of highways bearing never-ending traffic? One is always hesitant to conclude and episode of their life - mankind has always wanted to hold onto everything - but it is impossible for any of us to let go of nothing. I was caught between holding on to a fundamental element of my childhood and instigating something new.
My first few days in the new house were dominated with guilty perceptions of forgotten objects in the old house. I had even ventured to the point where I would mourn the loss of my postcard collection, only to find it in my very hands within the next hour. After a week of anxiety and despair, my mind finally rested on the thought that I had not left anything behind. I had everything with me. But there I was, 6 years on, roaming amid the walls of my old house and finding parts of myself embedded in its history. I had left so much behind; I was perplexed at how I could have missed them when I left. I finally grasped the idea that in reality, it is impossible to visit a place and leave no trace of your presence. It dawned on me, on an even more complicated level, that I only saw one of the countless faces of the house - which my various childhood associations were only some of the myriad of stories that this house bore. It was then that I lost my egotism which everyone possessed as a child, and comprehend the superiority of the sentimental aspect of an object over its material value.
A short trip into the old house - a past component of my life - and I seem to have been educated on the significance of an applied history to an otherwise object. I feel content in knowing that everyone - from the homeless to the wealthy - has left their permanent mark on the world, even after death. I know now that the nonexistence of personal photographs and even a lack of friends and family to mourn you will not destroy one's historically significant presence etched deep into the core of a landmark, a home where one undergoes memorable life experiences.
I know that despite the numerous owners and tenants that my old house will shelter and protect, it remains to be a time capsule to me - a window to my past - and yet simultaneously appear to be a new beginning, a blank canvas waiting to be drawn on, to someone else. · close