As I look back into the illusory caverns of time, it felt like I spent a lifetime in that apartment but in actuality, if memory serves me correctly, 5 years at max and that’s nothing more than a collegiate bid. I can remember going from a crib to my own bed. There were corners filled with stuffed animals and a crate filled with toys that was eventually upgraded to a Super Mario toy chest. My bedroom was also where I first started to hone my video game skills with the Nintendo and Super Nintendo until bedtime or once the system started to overheat. That was my life.
I used to wake up to my parents playing music in the very same living room where I watched Saturday morning cartoons. Hearing everything from Pat Metheny to Eric B. and Rakim, there was an education than consisted of many genres of music and this occurred long before I took my first steps into Kindergarten. The design of the letter and number on our front door is very fresh in my mind. I can even recite – without stumbling – my old phone number yet I’m very dependent on my iPhone’s directory for all of my current contacts. Isn’t that ironic? Here’s to hoping that ironic is the right word to use.
It feels like a part of me is still there. Stuck in my old room waiting to be reclaimed. These days I live down the street from my former abode and each time that I walk by I look up into the windows hoping to get a glimpse of a place that I knew too well. Letting go has always proved to be difficult but maybe I’ll discover that the release is actually painless.
I also poured water into my father’s old TV that he gave me because I wanted to see what would happen… Yeah…