I can sense mummy trying to wake me up, but the cold winds of the summer morning force my hands to work on their own as I pull myself closer to the brown blanket with a teddy bear design. Even the winds can’t win against mummy, I slowly open my eyes, untangle myself from the blanket, and breathe in the winds flowing through the window. I almost trip over the belt of our bags at the corner of the room, as mummy walks me to the bathroom. As soon as I step out of our main door, I can see my mamu (mom’s brother) starting his bike. The sky was still very dark and the winds sent chills through my long sleeved t-shirt. Mummy buys snacks from the only shop that’s open, while mamu holds my drowsy self. Finally at five, we board the bus and I sit near the window of the triple seat on the right-side behind the driver. As soon as we cross the movie theater, I fall asleep leaning against my mummy shoulder. I open my eyes as the bus moves along the bridge over the River. I can easily spot my aunt’s apartment building near the river bank. We have finally arrived, - the city I was born in, the city I spent every summer vacation even before I learned to talk.
Since I have moved to this country this memory is prominent; even when the sunlight shines on my face this memory remains alive. Why are some memories difficult to let go of? I wonder if this is because the memory was part of the routine. Or is it because the memories of our childhood always triumph over our present.