Anamnesis…

During the few precious moments between the mania to which I am subjected by the frenzy of city life, my thoughts lead me to the moment, once sacrosanct and self-evident, when to live was to enjoy immensely the simplest of things. That is to say, in the long ago and far away of a childhood spent in a small town. An atavistic stroll nowadays to the yesteryears, the simpler times: Childhood in the small town was all joy. Today, it is big trouble and satiety of goods.

My small town had a debonair that belongs to cities. Is that familiar? Decoration, fascination, presumption and fascination; all the benefits and glamour of city life were denied to my small town. Life managed to be a bit slower there.Small town experiences were valuable because you lived in the moment. There were no blank screens, no friends liking or commenting on your pictures, no political turmoil and very little to be sad about. Memories crop up. Crushed by the dust, we experimented with the spinning roundabout, falling on lush greens, laughing with every muscle in our small bodies willing to stretch wide so that we could call it a day.

Walking in the rain was another thing I loved. I remember the smell of damp earth and the touch of drizzle on my skin. It wasn’t about running under cover to avoid getting soaked, but to accept it, dance in it, to feel, and be, and stay human under the sky. I used to set out for these walks with my worries and pains; I returned free from them, much calmer.

I would read on weekends: my parents encouraged it. Those reading sessions were not just entertainment; they were my forays into horizons outside my own.The books my mother chose for me featured stories that were important, enriching, and sometimes profound. From a very young age, they taught the virtue of empathy, the power of kindness, and the magnificence of human connections.Those reading sessions were not just entertainment; they were my forays into horizons outside my own. I went there for hours and came back enriched.

Those were the days when life did not revolve around the latest gadgets or the latest fashion. People did not visit each other with prior notice, but dropped by without any notice and the two families shared food and celebrated the festivities together. People took care of each other, not for some gain, but because they genuinely were interested in each other, which is the situation these days, missing.

And now many years later, my life in the city has quite the opposite formula: it is a constant allure of adrenalin and stimulation. It is the rat race, the pursuit of success, the endless zone of consumer buying and engagement. Everything is at a three-hour tempo. It wears on me, mentally speaking. It’s psyche growing constantly weary, body working overtime. Small blessings in the city are not shared, quiet moments with God forgotten. It’s a world that says success means more not less, more buying not less values, a first-world country in the fast lane.

Convenience is trumpeted for such a place, but there is so much I miss from growing up in a small town. The friendships in the city are shallow, many of them formed, at least in part, on the basis of networking necessity. I miss the uncowboyed option of dropping around to a friend’s place without having to make a date weeks in advance and I absolutely miss the spur-of-the-moment, impromptu get-togethers of my childhood.

Living in the city tires me out mentally. There is too much noise here, figuratively speaking. I can no longer find any inner peace. My head is busy with the noise all the time. I have to respond to something, I can hardly introspect anymore. Time reminds me over and over of the brevity of life, and or even that I am on the verge of another encounter with my loved ones. City life is so rushed. It has almost no moments of stillness.

I wish I could escape this frenzy, at least part of the time. I long to return to a life in which events, not things, have meaning, a coffee with a friend, times when you didn’t have to work at happiness just to feel mentally healthy and stress-free. I want to go back to a time when people were fuel for your soul, when you didn’t have to play at intimacy, but genuinely shared feelings.
The bright lights of the city hide a dark side, a feeling that there has to be more: more success, more money, more stuff, and never feeling like there is enough. It is hard to break out of, and I am definitely not alone.
But hope stays with me. Hope that someday I’ll come back to the basics, one day I will pack my backpack again and leave this city. I will go to that little town again, pluck an old book from that dusty shelf and read it like when I was there that day, when I was 10. I will walk in the rain and not be afraid of getting wet, play games in the playground with my friends and laugh until it hurts.

I will return to the pleasure of encounters between people, being with; I will pay attention to things that are small but vital, and I shall escape from the rat-race for material stuff, the constant accumulation of things. That is my dream. That is the voice which brings me through the bustle of cities.

Until then, perhaps I will seek out sanctuary in the cracks, carve out moments of time for reading, or walks in the rain, encounters that are real, special. And maybe, just maybe, I will manage to transport at least a whiff of small-town serenity into the city.

For the time being I will keep the memories, and hold on to the desire that someday, I will return there. To the simple life. To the life full of joviality, indulgence and love, where the weight of my head is not as heavy. And when I feel that hope knock on the door, I will bring out my childhood memories. I will dig into my bamboo hut to escape the blazing sun light, and lie in my groove to keep warm and feel remote. I will still the dust-swept night wind with cupped hands over my mouth. I will listen to the crickets, relish the water, and appreciate the impermanence of things.