“Little Mr junior be careful don’t get hurt. Get down of that mango tree. Lunch is ready,” Mummy said. Mummy always said so. I can clearly remember how I climbed the tree with full confidence, skipping each branch that came my way, touching each leaf with my tiny hands.
I still can remember as the breeze rose and made me want to fall but the branches gave me a tight hug which no one else has ever done apart from my mom.
I still can remember how I made that mango tree my best friend, how I swung on her but she never complained nor did she get tired.
I still sniff the aromatic scent of mama’s food, the taste and how it’s been beautifully arranged. It always makes my mouth water and stomach full.
I still can remember the early morning bath and the matching outfits, and also the evening bath, when mom will say, “Little Mr. Junior you are all covered in sand, your hair is all messed up. Did you eat sand?”
And I will give her my best puppy eye’s and say, “No, mummy, I didn’t o!
My, the sand pitch… I just couldn’t get rid of the smell of the sand, how it looked and why it always let me eat it and play on it? That question always bothered me. But the question was always a question. I just can’t get rid of the world of innocence, world of joy, world of free worries.
Actually I was once apart of that world but not anymore.