My mind travelled back in time, to the days when I enjoyed the lovely silence of the forest, the pleasant noise of birds chipping happily, and the occasional shouts of an angry village woman as she scolded her troublesome child, I enjoyed the short ringing of bicycle bells as they warned unsuspecting villagers from getting in the way.
My hometown was one that brought memories that I loved, memories that stay etched on my mind like a palm oil stain on a white dress, memories that would be very hard to let go of, they were happy ones indeed.
I would always wonder how these people managed to live carefree lives, tending to their farms and meeting to gossip at every given opportunity, it baffled me because living in the city was always full of concerns, at least that’s what I see on my parents’ eyes when they return from business. Their words of complaint about how money supposedly ‘vanishes’ every day are like a boring poem, forced down your pitiful ears.
That is why my visit to the village is always a memorable one, one where the voice of concern is like a vanishing sound in the distance.
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