Listening Walls and Foreign Lands

I leaned back, rested my head against the brick wall and shut out the world. I had once read that if you go to really old places, that have been abandoned but were once habited, and if you lean close and really put your ears against the walls, you can hear the past. You can hear the nosies, the cackles of laughter and stream of joy that once made this house a home. That means, that the walls can literally absorb sound and store it within them. Now, I don’t know how true this is, but I truly find this so magical, beyond any reasonable understanding, I want to believe this.

I want to believe that when we were children and we were running away from siblings and fighting and crying and laughing  and snoring and living; I want to believe that these are not forever lost. Growing up happens so fast, that when I look back, I want it all stacked in neat CD’s, ready for me to play whenever I feel nostalgic. I want to believe that when I turned 13 and had my friends come over, that every single conversation from that day has been absorbed and stored.

I want to remember and simultaneously forget that god awful day when I was 15 and was told that I was pretty and for the teenager that I was, I believed it and was on call with my best friend for 4 hours that night; that the walls heard me saying everything that night. I want the walls to remember and remind me that exactly a year later, at 16, I cried endlessly because for some reason, I had stopped being the object of “pretty” for him and that broke me; for a while there.

I want the walls to remind me that at 17, when I received my first acceptance letter to University, I couldn’t wait to step out of the four walls of my house that were somehow closing in and making me feel like a prisoner in my own home. I couldn’t wait to be out of the chains that I had cuffed myself with and to see the world beyond with all of the lies and fables that were fed to me One Tree Hill and Gossip Girl.

And at 20, whenever I go back home, I want the walls to enclose me, embrace me and remind me that this is never going to be the same again. That I will never be back here again; never for ever. I will come here, stay for a few days, neatly make my bed and never return for good. I am a guest to my parents and a stranger in my hometown. I am no more here and I am neither there. For all my prayers of never returning back again, I really won’t.

Too foreign for home and too Foreign for homeland.

I want these walls to bare witness to me and my growing years. I want them to be a constant reminder of myself through the years, ages, eons. I never want to forget all the laughter that came from the depths of my chest and I never want to forget every idiot over whom I shed my tears and I want to always be reminded the good and the bad; safely stored in the walls.

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