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  • Writer's pictureEphemeral

Summers and Tantrums

Yesterday, eyeing stores as I walked toward my boarding gate at the airport, I came across a couple of bookstores. Normally, bookstores aren't particularly notable to me; they are everywhere, and in fact, several of them. Also, while I always consider going in and scrolling through the books on display, I am usually not very mindful about it. Yesterday was a little different though, because for the first time I realised that it hadn't always been like this.

As a child, I was quite fond of bookstores, and books. I would read day and night, and would sometimes follow series of books for which I would frequent bookstores. The best present for every occasion would be a book, or better still, more than one. As much as for the vacation, I would be excited about the read I would be carrying with me from home, or better still, would buy, from a seller at the station or the airport. Summer holidays would be the perfect time to chill and to read. Even if not so much throughout the year, I would finish all my pent up reading during the month of no school.

Standing in front of the airport bookstore, the realisation of the summers long gone hit me hard. The time to catch up on my favourite things had waned away; all that remained, was haphazard weekends or the occasional slow evening.

Our nostalgic broodings may bring bittersweet memories of our lives past; they may also help us navigate present feelings of something being amiss or not quite right. In a recent conversation for instance, I expressed my dislike towards gifts, especially those that inadvertently signified huge changes in my life. When I look back in time, I am reminded of tantrums that I threw as a child, over things like having to wear my first bra, or having to put on sanitary pads on my perfectly good bloomers, not to mention, having to ditch bloomers for big girl underpants to accommodate wings on pads. While I do not give a second thought to many things today, there was a first time for all of them, and there was often no going back.

As I grow up, I think I shall become more passive and accepting toward inevitable, irreversible changes. Tantrums have given way to expressions of concern, and I have been blessed with someone who never tries to diminish what I feel. Some days though, I shall wish for summer holidays, and perhaps one day, they'll even be back. Until then, haphazard weekends have to suffice.

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