Articles, Essays & First Person Journalism
The roasted coffee aroma permeates the kitchen I have grown to love. It is simply alluring. These sights remain vivid in my little mind like photographs at the gallery of my life.
Strangely enough, despondence transmits me back to these happy moments; so needful for me as I re-navigate and sieve through debilitating times. I still remember Grandma lovingly well, her smile, her laughter and her signature nuances. Oh I miss her so. Why do we even have to grow up, and so quickly at that? Grandma's ubiquitous influence can be felt throughout each turning point of my life.
Kindred spirits? What are they? Some folks simply piss us off for no apparent reason. Other times you meet another you have no qualms laying your life down for. Mystical, is it not? I believe our happiest moments are hidden somewhere in our innermost being, waiting to fulfill their ardent purpose. Must say the first six years with Grandma have not only ignited my truest self but she had illuminated what-so-ever counts.
Walking these streets in Shibuya today have brought back glimpses of little me running along the streets. I capture images of my happy-self like snapshots of some obssessive photographer hungry for Kodak moments. Without a doubt, I need to uplift "me". I cannot let myself down. Tokyo will always be special to me. Mythical in many ways because this is my very first visit to Japan.
As I daily struggle between the cracks of two worlds, I am still that jolly little girl who used to chase yellow butterflies in Grandma's sweet little Eden. I don't think have ever left Kovan Eden. I remain forever eight. It was the happiest year of my life.
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