THE THINGS WE LEAVE BEHIND...

The row of houses I once lived in

Ofttimes, when we move from one phase of our lives into

another, we do so without a backward glance and with nary a

thought to what we're leaving behind.  For example, when I passed

through the gate of my primary school for the final time, the fact that
it was part of my life that was seemingly gone forever didn't, as far as I

recall, perturb me in the slightest.  Soon, the classrooms and corridors

of my secondary school became the familiar routine of my daily life,

and I'm surprised, looking back today, at just how quickly and

easily I adapted to the change without even realizing it.

The front gate of my old primary school - from the inside

It wasn't until I revisited my old primary a few years later,

after having left secondary and joined the working classes, that

it dawned on me that, in some mysterious, mystical, magical way, I
was still connected to this aspect of my past and, in truth, had never

really parted from it.  You see, not thinking about a thing is not the
same as forgetting it.  The memory yet dwells in our subconscious;

 what we forget is the act of remembering - until, that is, something
suddenly triggers the memory and causes it to erupt in our
minds like an exploding firework.

The toilets - listen to that water trickle

I remember one day a few years back, when I suddenly

caught a whiff of disinfectant and was instantly transported back
to the toilets of my old primary school, where I often used to retire
to during lessons for a bit of peace and quiet in the cool of the tiled
environs, with the sound of gently-gurgling water emanating from the
cubicle cisterns and porcelain urinals.  I felt such a soothing sense of
tranquility there, and it was my very own 'fortress of solitude' for
five minutes at a time whenever the confines of the classroom
became too claustrophobic for me. ( I assume my teacher
simply thought I had a weak bladder.)

I can see my house from here.  The view from my classroom

I've previously mentioned how I felt when I revisited

a former home for the first time since I'd left 16 years before

(which, at the time, was more than half my life away), and it was

practically the same as when I'd left.  As I said in this post,  it was
as if the intervening years and two houses I'd lived in since were only
a dream, and I still felt right at home there.  I'm sure we've all had
the experience of meeting someone we haven't seen or thought
of in years and it's just as if we saw them only a short while
before.  That's how I felt on that particular day.

My former back garden - ah, happy memories

Well, I could labour the point I suppose, with example
after example, but I'm sure you're all smart enough to catch my
drift (must remember to buy some more anti-dandruff shampoo).
Things we may think we've left behind (whether or not, at the time,
we were even aware of it) come with us without us realizing it.  They
reside in the caverns of memory, reluctant to let go of us despite our
seeming indifference to them.  Whether it be garden gates, bedroom
carpets, once favourite toys, favoured friends or whatever, they
follow us throughout our lives, just waiting for an opportune
moment to renew the acquaintance.

  Long may it ever be so.   

Posted in: Cartoons