Sunday, February 05, 2006
Echoes
by venitha
It's been one month now since our family left, and the memories of their visit resonate, echo, make me smile.
Marilyn. Wearing pajamas of my favorite color in the kitchen in the morning. "How many pineapples have we eaten?"
Matthew. Ending every taxi ride with a heartfelt thank-you that never failed to get even the most grudging, grunting, tooth-smacking driver to smile at him.
Elizabeth. Her passion for handbags, and her successful hunt for a cheongsam. How lovely, how adult, she looked in it.
Karen. Her sisterly reassurance and easy smile. "I know you don't like it here, but, still, you seem so comfortable."
John. His enchantment with watching the people, with wandering the wet markets, with exploring the untouristed side of Singapore. So much like me.
Jim. Smiling. Smiling. And laughing. Laughing. Wrestling with Matthew, reading Boondocks with Elizabeth, hugging his mother.
All of us. Happy together. Sharing our enthusiasm for dominoes, computers, chocolate, and hard-boiled eggs.
In our elevator, the smeary wet footprints that marked our frequent path from the pool have long since disappeared, but inside my apartment, a rubber ducky sits brightly on our bookcase. His Nirwana Gardens logo has worn off, and his twin has abandoned him for the colder climes of Colorado, yet he's unrelentingly perky.
He makes me smile.
venitha
Marilyn. Wearing pajamas of my favorite color in the kitchen in the morning. "How many pineapples have we eaten?"
Matthew. Ending every taxi ride with a heartfelt thank-you that never failed to get even the most grudging, grunting, tooth-smacking driver to smile at him.
Elizabeth. Her passion for handbags, and her successful hunt for a cheongsam. How lovely, how adult, she looked in it.
Karen. Her sisterly reassurance and easy smile. "I know you don't like it here, but, still, you seem so comfortable."
John. His enchantment with watching the people, with wandering the wet markets, with exploring the untouristed side of Singapore. So much like me.
Jim. Smiling. Smiling. And laughing. Laughing. Wrestling with Matthew, reading Boondocks with Elizabeth, hugging his mother.
All of us. Happy together. Sharing our enthusiasm for dominoes, computers, chocolate, and hard-boiled eggs.
In our elevator, the smeary wet footprints that marked our frequent path from the pool have long since disappeared, but inside my apartment, a rubber ducky sits brightly on our bookcase. His Nirwana Gardens logo has worn off, and his twin has abandoned him for the colder climes of Colorado, yet he's unrelentingly perky. He makes me smile.
venitha
