We went back to our old house yesterday because there was a holiday and had fun. The place still looked the same. An island in a sea of sugarcanes. The neighbors still looked the same. I used to laugh and call the place a cemetary of dreams. located just at the back of beyond and the middle of nowhere - where hopes go to die.
Well, nothing much has changed. The people are still the same. I saw a couple of new faces but somehow, they still all look the same. And by the same, I mean, it's like comparing and old goldfish to a new one. You know this one here is new but still looks like the old one. The people are still nosy, naturally.
I found some old photographs. Well, actually a lot of them and I took them with me. Halfway through the day, I borrowed dad's motorcycle and my sister and I took a small ride to and around the old village. It was really nice to see the old staff houses. Warm feeling slowly crept up inside me as I drove through a tunnel of acacia trees. I really should have taken pictures of the houses. They're really lovely, like those posh colonial homes.
I miss my childhood.