So one day I was
walking along with my mother in the marketplace, searching for metaphors. You
might be interested to ask which shop sells them, but the truth was, she was
shopping and I was continuing my search for metaphors.
My hometown is small, with limited space for development. Wait, I don’t think this is my opinion. In fact I just happened to hear it from someone and assumed it to be true. My town has developed in the last eight years, a shape of city marring the landscape. But it wasn’t as if I would forget my way about. A lot of things remained unchanged- old shops, familiar landmarks, the beach...
Of course the sea wouldn’t change. Maybe that is why I’m so fond of it.
Passing through a confectionery named ‘Rema’ made me do something I used to involuntarily do as a child- look for the familiar face of a middle aged man. If I try to remember his face in my mind, I would get only a hazy image. I’m sure if I see him again I would know. I was to only see his photograph hung there in his memory because he was no more.
Maybe I ought to feel sad. Almost twenty years had passed from that particular childhood, but his actions weren’t forgotten by me. He used to give me free sweets whenever we visited the confectionery, hence a greedy child’s involuntary glance towards it. I had taken it for granted that I would get free sweets if I pass by, for he had never disappointed me. I remember I used to only respond with a smile or a rare ‘thank you’ whenever he presented me with what I was anticipating for. Maybe I ought to have spoken to him more, but I was a shy child who kept much to herself. Anyway, adults found shy children less dangerous than the loquacious ones and I was more than happy to comply with their expectations.
As if reading my thread of thoughts, my mother said, “You remember the man who used to give you sweets? He is no more.” Then she smiled one of her poignant, sad smiles.It was to express regret over the death of a generous man who was fond of children- shy, secretly greedy ones who only substituted smiles for a ‘thank you’. I think I also have that kind of a smile among my other ones- forced, shy, genuine, dramatic. I think she expected me to comment or offer an incident of reminiscence, but I merely nodded without putting on my ‘poignant’ smile. I asked her if she remembered what his name was, which made her crease her forehead for fives seconds or more and admit that she did not.
I had found one of my metaphors. Aren’t metaphors supposed to be comparisons? I was trying to find one to compare my childhood in my hometown; it had to be something old and nothing new. Change may be constant, but it is also secretly hated. We want the past to be remembered as glorious and untainted. My town has undergone changes, but the people have become almost unrecognizable, not like a shadow of their former selves, but with a strange metamorphosis of something else which children fond of imagination do not wish to understand.
This nameless man with a forgotten face was my metaphor. At that moment, I couldn’t even muster a poignant smile.
I continued the search for the next metaphor.
My hometown is small, with limited space for development. Wait, I don’t think this is my opinion. In fact I just happened to hear it from someone and assumed it to be true. My town has developed in the last eight years, a shape of city marring the landscape. But it wasn’t as if I would forget my way about. A lot of things remained unchanged- old shops, familiar landmarks, the beach...
Of course the sea wouldn’t change. Maybe that is why I’m so fond of it.
Passing through a confectionery named ‘Rema’ made me do something I used to involuntarily do as a child- look for the familiar face of a middle aged man. If I try to remember his face in my mind, I would get only a hazy image. I’m sure if I see him again I would know. I was to only see his photograph hung there in his memory because he was no more.
Maybe I ought to feel sad. Almost twenty years had passed from that particular childhood, but his actions weren’t forgotten by me. He used to give me free sweets whenever we visited the confectionery, hence a greedy child’s involuntary glance towards it. I had taken it for granted that I would get free sweets if I pass by, for he had never disappointed me. I remember I used to only respond with a smile or a rare ‘thank you’ whenever he presented me with what I was anticipating for. Maybe I ought to have spoken to him more, but I was a shy child who kept much to herself. Anyway, adults found shy children less dangerous than the loquacious ones and I was more than happy to comply with their expectations.
As if reading my thread of thoughts, my mother said, “You remember the man who used to give you sweets? He is no more.” Then she smiled one of her poignant, sad smiles.It was to express regret over the death of a generous man who was fond of children- shy, secretly greedy ones who only substituted smiles for a ‘thank you’. I think I also have that kind of a smile among my other ones- forced, shy, genuine, dramatic. I think she expected me to comment or offer an incident of reminiscence, but I merely nodded without putting on my ‘poignant’ smile. I asked her if she remembered what his name was, which made her crease her forehead for fives seconds or more and admit that she did not.
I had found one of my metaphors. Aren’t metaphors supposed to be comparisons? I was trying to find one to compare my childhood in my hometown; it had to be something old and nothing new. Change may be constant, but it is also secretly hated. We want the past to be remembered as glorious and untainted. My town has undergone changes, but the people have become almost unrecognizable, not like a shadow of their former selves, but with a strange metamorphosis of something else which children fond of imagination do not wish to understand.
This nameless man with a forgotten face was my metaphor. At that moment, I couldn’t even muster a poignant smile.
I continued the search for the next metaphor.
