Warm Memories
My mother had always told me that since she was a little girl, she dreamed of seeing the world. She hoped every single day she would get to walk every street, climb every tree, and see every star. She wished and prayed that she would leave her broken life in a third world country to fall in love with baguettes in France, warm smiles from strangers in the Caribbean, and the wild animals that roam in Australia.
I had never understood why my mother wanted such a thing. I could not see into her past. I could not see her five-year-old self clutching the pockets of her dress because they had holes which her family could not afford to fix. Sometimes, though, when she is folding laundry, and a tear presents itself in one of the articles of clothing, her fingers stop. Her eyes glaze over, her breath catches, and for a split second, you can see the little girl picking up spare change in the street for the money she is saving to buy a new dress, in the warmth of her eyes.
When I was eight years old, I was in Brazil visiting my family. My grandfather was cooking with family on the porch, my mother smiling with her childhood friends, and my sister and I were off in the backyard playing with rocks. We played with sticks and stones, and we made tools, pretending we were the world’s most amazing architects. We were laughing, playing in a place in which there was no money for toys or electronics. As I gazed up to pull another branch, I caught my mother’s eye. She had tears in her eyes; happy, joyful tears for the children she created. She still smiles when I go outside to play in the grass. The tools we made stayed in Brazil, but the joy manifested itself into Meridian, Mississippi.
At eleven years old, I did not think much of croissants. They were a breakfast food that I only liked when there was chocolate on the inside. In sixth grade in Anguilla, an island in the Caribbean, my teacher picked my best friend Nandi and me up at six in the morning and took us to the only breakfast café on the island. She drove to the highest point of the island where the cafe rested, which overlooked the crystal clear water. She ordered a chocolate croissant for me from “Le bon Pon,” and when I sat outside to eat it, she told me to listen. She told me to be quiet for a second, and listen to the ocean, feel the sunlight on my skin, and to close my eyes and feel the joy in the air. She told me to smile and feel the love, for the beach is not to be taken for granted. It houses oceans that can overpower anything and anyone and is filled with creatures of beauty and grace that can just as easily kill any man or woman. Then my croissant came, and there was nothing else to be said. On those sixteen miles of land, of the island, I used to call home, lives a woman named Racquel Graham. She may have only been my middle school teacher, but that woman has moved mountains for me that I will continue to admire the rest of my life. That tiny little island in the middle of the ocean is fortunate to have her.
It is not only the people that are distinct to the brain that has the most significant impact. The woman I met on the street of a tiny little island in the Bahamas told me I was the most beautiful girl she had ever seen in her life. At ten years old, that kindness could not be processed. It was unimaginably pure. A man I met in Cancun, Mexico, who did not even personally associate with me, will never leave my mind. It was about one in the morning, and I had woken up to get water. I walked to the kitchen of my condo, and he was shining a light to lead the sea turtles back to the ocean on the beach. I could barely see, considering my window was not directly facing the water, but he had stayed up to help those innocent creatures. He has a beautiful soul.
It gets a person thinking. If all of this kindness, all of this good in the world, is out there, how is it not seen in one’s daily life? The answer is straightforward- everybody in this world has the same core. The human race is made of stardust, and particles that can only come from the deepest of space. People have the same desires, the same wants, the same needs. Yet, it seems as though appearance, reputation and what appears on the surface is all that is significant. A human being is a miracle in itself, to exist, to breathe, to be alive, is a phenomenon that is still yet to be explained. This earth is a gift; humans owe their lives to it. The people of today are crafted of the earth, soil, and sunlight and of those who have come before and after them.
In the grand scheme of things, an individual human being is so small. The phases of life shall continuously pass, and then one day, they will merely be another memory that is not remembered until a photograph is shown. So when the opportunity arises to see this earth, take it, run to it, and jump for it while cherishing it with every bone in your body. One day, the summer shall pass, the air will be cold, and the end of life will be nearing. Then, when the only thing that is warm is the memory made at eleven years old with a middle school teacher, the regret of not having left a small town will insurmountably surpass the regret of having gone to explore.