November 18, 2010 by Beechmount
During my childhood, I took it for granted that my world was immutable, that all the things, people and places I loved, would forever remain the same. It was only when some of my family members began to die I came to the realization that time is a cruel taskmaster, whose hands relentlessly change the layers of matter that make up the essence of all things. Everything is in a constant state of metamorphism, living or otherwise. Nothing that I had learned during my early childhood and later formative years had prepared me for the changes that came and which so profoundly affected the way I came to think about life and the world in which we live.
For a long time, I considered the garden of my childhood, with all its carefree moments of play and light-hearted thoughts of tomorrow’s potential for more of the same, as a time lost forever; a paradise relegated to history. My teenage years were a time when the glorious possibilities that life offered manifested itself in my mind and to some extend, they have remained there ever since.Much later in life, when I found myself the last surviving member of my nearest family, I began occasionally to plunge into some profound soul searching and reflections on my childhood and youth in my native land.It occurred to me that as long as some member of my family was still alive there, I had a connection to the past.It was as if a part of me still lived there, even though the years that I resided in my birthplace had long past into the realm of history.The memories I had of my family, who filled my young years with happiness, was a book that endured within me, a manuscript that I could open and read any time I wished.It made me realize that they had succeeded in being remembered with great affection beyond their mortal years by the love and care they had bestowed upon me and that this would live within me as long as my grey cells would permit.
The emotions that surge through me when I dwell upon those times create a feeling of inner bliss, although often mixed with a measure of sadness.The latter is no doubt a manifestation of regret that the events and the people concerned can only be referred to in the past tense.