Memories Sweet Memories...

When I sit in my grandma's arms, on a rocking chair, in front of the fireplace, and her soft veiny hands caress my cold face while I play with her reddish-orange braids as the November evening wind swirls against the windows and the rain taps rhythmically on the wooden roof of our traditional warm familial home.
The rain was almost piercing inside the house but I was enjoying that moment and the chilly wintery atmosphere.
I used to listen to my grandma's wise stories, her childhood memories, her fairy tales...For me, it was a sacred moment, a daily necessity that I needed the way I need oxygen

Sometimes, I laugh at her childish naughty behaviors and the weird military-like punishments that she used to receive from her mother, reminding me each time that we're so lucky to be born in a very spoiling era.
Sometimes, I get lost in her imaginary stories of fairies as she smartly mixes them with some life-like stuff.
Sometimes, I get shocked by some terrifying events that happened in the past and that she herself witnessed when she was only 8 years old, events during the Second World War like slaughtering people alive, keeping them away from their families, preventing them from having shelter and food, torturing parents in front of their kids, not knowing when a sudden bomb would fall and over whom would it fall.
From the other side, Dad and grandpa used to play chess, throwing from time to time some ironic words and laughing secretly at me, thinking that I was that kind of crybaby child, but unfortunately for them, I wasn't.
My older brother used to celebrate the rainy weather and please our ears by playing for us some tracks, whether with his piano or with his guitar.
While listening, all of them used to sip a hot cup of tea made by mom, except for me under the annoying pretext of "You're young honey" and giving me instead a provocative cup of hot chocolate. They couldn't understand that I was not like other kids. Sometimes being the youngest one is the worst thing, but it still has its special flavor besides, grandma was secretly allowing me to steal some sips from her cup, you know, the tenderness of grandmothers.

Memories Sweet Memories...

I deeply wish that I can go back to the past, even for only two minutes. Without that necessary oxygen, as it were, my life has become "polluted", if so I may say, and I seem unable to breathe perfectly anymore. I desperately need the scent of my grandma, her forever warm touches, her unique trembling voice that I can easily identify from many voices. I miss all those instants with its small details, I miss the sound of flames, I miss the laughter of dad and grandpa, my mother's jealousy because of stealing her favorite place, in my grandma's arms, I miss every single detail. Everything has changed now, there is no more innocence, no more purity, no more tenderness, no family nest, everything has deteriorated and life showed us its dark face. The era of technology swallowed all those unreplaceable moments...it robbed us of the simplicity of yesterday.