Relocation has always been a part of my life. When I was young, our family had moved from one place to another at least five times. The only reason was improvement.
From a derelict rented house not far from a steel bridge to an owned two-story house in the middle of a well-entrenched squatters’ community, my family had seen the joy and pain of leaving behind people, things and sites that had been a part of each residence. Certain memories stuck but through the years they continue to vanish from our psyche.
Sometimes, when I remember my past, I could still recall a number of events that marked some important segments in my life. There were also things that reminded me of those events that I still possess to this day. Yesterday, I stumbled upon one such item.
An old black and white photograph inside a long forgotten album which belonged to my parents came to my attention while looking for old papers to sort out. Along with wedding photos, there were but a few that was left to reminisce about.
Looking at it closely, I have validated one of my earliest memories as a child, that of being dirt poor. Now I have confirmation that even at that stage of impoverished existence there were also light moments to cherish. .
It was so amazing how a simple photograph could show how it was like back then. At least, a positive adjective was added to my early childhood: happy.