I used to ogle at the window. Ah Ma said it was expensive. Those fine prints on the glass panel were truly exquisite. I believed her every word. She was my favourite person. Uncle said it was tempered glass. I took it that it meant it was thick and it made me feel safe.
I often looked out of the window and would admire those pretty embellishments on the glass, and I touched them. I remember this. The sight through it was truly breathtaking every morning. I loved pushing it open by its very handle and taking in the deep morning freshness at Kovan Road. I could see our neighbour doing their daily chores. Aunty next door loved to do the laundry in the wee hours of the morning, scrubbing and wringing and splashing. My frequent visitations to my past as I shut my eyes. Beautiful memories.
Now this window is still there. I see it often enough. But I wonder if it will ever draw the same joys as it did for much of it draws duty and service. Beyond it all, is the call of help. By countless persons who have streamed past this window of my life. When I so crane to peep, I see myself there peering back. At times painfully, unwillingly in difficult moments of toil and suffering. Interestingly, the tormentor was none other than Me. Those times are gone. The tide of time has gone by so quickly that I recognize my wee frame no more. I have emerged
bigger. Am I stronger?
Some say our very eyes are the windows to what is within. Circumstances draw us deep. What comes out is indeed what is inside. That theory may hold some truth as I see more folds within these folds and much more. The layers within can overlap and get all doggy eared. What if these windows get shut along the way and they never let eyes through any longer? What if they get sealed forever? For only with permission can one pry open and seek attention from outside.
Some windows are always closed. I know for sure. They want not any interaction nor solicitations of any kind. Encounters are unwelcomed. At best, you can say it is privacy they seek. Many would want to tag a sob story along or tag wanton feelings with these. It is shut for good. Keep off. Start. Should be familiar in this day and age when all we ever open are those of Microsoft's to reach out to others. Ironically, still a window. But one in the privacy of our very rooms. I perceive we may end up conjouring windows of love in this faceless world.
Perhaps the window we seek are the windows of truth. Often times I do not feel that emotional bond with people. Time is never a friend. We hardly get enough rest. So I wish to open my window again but am unsure as I may let stale air in. Plagued by the haze from Malaysia noe and smoke from senseless smokers, I am forced to keep my window closed. Is it not sad that humankind has regressed to a state where relating to others is no longer a choice but an option?
- Written by Zany Lynn
- Category: Poetry
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