“I wish that photographs were physical spaces, like tunnels; that you could crawl inside them and go back.”
-Lauren Oliver, Vanishing GirlsI would love to crawl into a photograph, spiraling back in time, into a place where the future seemed so far away, where my father’s arms seemed like the width of the world, and each day was a glimpse into eternity.
The past, faded memories, scratched up receipts and christmas cards, glitter falling off of old artwork from preschool, catch and release, and suddenly we are here, conclusion of March, grasping onto things and people that no longer exist
nostalgia is a limiting word to describe a heart clinging to memories – i’m nostalgic for the lemon bars my mother and I used to make at Christmas, for the Chicago cold and ugly winter roads, and board games, snuggling up beside old friends and blankets
but how can i describe the longing for my grandmother’s home cooked dishes, greasy and rich in colors, soy sauce scented kitchen, browned tiles, and laughter, her broken accent and wrinkly hand in mine.
or my brother’s mischievous smile, his playful jumping and claps, compilation of youth and innocence now replaced by insecurities and anger
i miss a place so distant, so far, i only recall the pictures, overexposed and grainy, the gloomy day at the brookfield zoo, my tiny four year old dimples and almond eyes beside my mother’s warm smile, those photos are in black and white and I no longer have recollection of the colors
generation of movement, individualism, pursuit of happiness, money, wealth, fame but in the end its only the people that matter.
“See, see how the sun has moved onward while we talked. Nothing can stop it in its course. Prayers cannot halt the revolving of nature. It is the same with human life.”
Thank you for reading.