The old and wise often regale us with stories of our childhood, and we listen. More often than not, we are bewildered by the stories we cannot recall—memories, acts, or moments that were never there to begin with. Yet they are as true as the sunrise and sunset in the eyes of the elders. Within such tellings, there often lie telltale signs of scars, even ones unbeknownst to my very soul.
The consciousness, so vast, so mysterious, and all-powerful, shielded my very being and essence. Little did it know the consequences… The cry of a child that alarmed the whole village was told with such fascination, with smiles and joy. And all I could do was smile back. But the child inside me knew something. Could it be where it all began? Or was it just all the same?
The day my mother left. Left for our future, for a better life, to America—the land of beauty and possibility. Envy and joy filled the hearts of everyone in the village, but not mine. I held on tight the day before, not knowing what was wrong in the eyes of a toddler. But I knew, somehow, that something had gone terribly wrong. Like a snake wrapped around its prey, unrelenting, I clung to her with all my little strength. My mother tells it with glee and fondness, and again, I can only smile back. Not knowing, and yet, deep within, a flicker in the vast consciousness… good, bad, or was it just all the same, a day like any other?
My cry might have warranted sympathy and pity from those around me. A cry that lasted from morning until dusk and even well into the night. “Oh, the lungs on him! Oh, the tears never stopped! Oh, the might of that cry! Oh, how the whole village tried…” The grandparents would tell it vividly, laughter filling the room. I, embarrassed—only on the surface. But a key was given. The consciousness, still unrelenting, but I know… That day, a day I cannot recall, but one that left my very core uncomfortable. My emotions are rendered here and then—simply rendered. A smile, another mask.
The day after, when tears never touched my cheeks again. The day after, when I saw the world as it is, not as it could have been. The day after, when my heart fell silent and remained still. The consciousness, unrelenting in keeping it locked away. Could it be, or was it all good, all bad, and all the same as any other day?
Who could say? The perception of that day never existed for me, but the tales have been shared countless times with joy and laughter. And I… just smile.
