Status: Finished
Childhood
one.
I sit here, photo album on my lap as I stare at the captured glossy memories, that I know all too well, it only seems like it was yesterday….
We used to sit there, the two of us, on the floor. Watching the fire crackle as it heated our pale cheeks, laughing at each other as we reminisced about the strange mishaps we did in the garden, earlier that day.
Playing with was always so real, just a simple game of dress up sends us both to our own secret world, where there’d be rainbows, ponies, and all our beloved toys would be gigantic and play tea-party with us for hours.
Sometimes we would pretend that we were princesses, imagining my living room was our kingdom; Midenella! we called it. I remember getting scolded by my Mum because we completely destroyed the room; chairs were pushed together with a blanket over it resembling a cave, my Dad’s favorite silk blue blanket was sprawled over the floor, it was a river, we wore my Mum’s expensive dresses, it was our gowns.
No matter how many times they have scolded us, we’d still cause mayhem everywhere. It was because were so unaware of what’s going on, too caught up in our own personal wonderland to care.
We had fights, but we’d always resolve them. I would simply push a plate of cookies to your side when it was snack time and you would play a game by yourself and play me along, after a few minutes I‘m playing with you. It was a lot easier those days.
Whenever I felt lonely or angry, you would make me feel better by braiding my hair. I’d try that on you only I wasn’t as good. After a while we’d start playing with my Mum’s make-up, messily painting our faces as we wore our plastic, sequined crowns. We’d even spoke in a ghastly English accent when I brought out my tea-party set, ”Lady Daniela, would you please pass the sugah!” you said, in a nasal voice—,that didn’t sound English at all—as you placed your messy lips ticked lips on the plastic cup.
Sleep overs with you were the best. Staying up all night—which back then was until 9:30—making a tent out of my blankets telling each other corny ghost stories as I flashed the flashlight around making the shadows dance that frightened us to toppled the blankets over us and just hide there.
When we wake up, Mum would always make pancakes, we’d walk like zombies as our chubby legs trotted and stumbled down the stairs, following the delicious aroma. I would wiggle in my seat as I waited impatiently for my food to be on my plate, the syrup was the best, the sweet sensation always tingled on my tongue.
But above all the best memories would have to be when I get hurt; fall off my tricycle, scrape my knee, cut my finger, hit my head, and all the other things that can be healed with a band aid and an ice pack.
Sometimes, I wish I could just go back to those days where everything was easy, and we were care-free, where band-aids could heal wounds easily not like broken hearts.
As time went on, we got older, we got into different things but that didn’t stop us from being best friends, just like before you would braid my hair when I was down, though the reason was because a boy broke up with me instead of scraped knees.
We still have sleepovers only we gush more about boys and school scandals instead of corny stories, but what amazes me is through the years I still see that twinkle of innocent friendship we always had, and that you were with me through all the bad times; always there with a reassuring grin.
Through all the times I wished that I was a kid again so I can re-do the things I regretted deeply, but one the things I will never regret is sharing my childhood with my best friend. It was the best, and I can’t wait for more memorable moments we’ll have for the time to come.
We used to sit there, the two of us, on the floor. Watching the fire crackle as it heated our pale cheeks, laughing at each other as we reminisced about the strange mishaps we did in the garden, earlier that day.
Playing with was always so real, just a simple game of dress up sends us both to our own secret world, where there’d be rainbows, ponies, and all our beloved toys would be gigantic and play tea-party with us for hours.
Sometimes we would pretend that we were princesses, imagining my living room was our kingdom; Midenella! we called it. I remember getting scolded by my Mum because we completely destroyed the room; chairs were pushed together with a blanket over it resembling a cave, my Dad’s favorite silk blue blanket was sprawled over the floor, it was a river, we wore my Mum’s expensive dresses, it was our gowns.
No matter how many times they have scolded us, we’d still cause mayhem everywhere. It was because were so unaware of what’s going on, too caught up in our own personal wonderland to care.
We had fights, but we’d always resolve them. I would simply push a plate of cookies to your side when it was snack time and you would play a game by yourself and play me along, after a few minutes I‘m playing with you. It was a lot easier those days.
Whenever I felt lonely or angry, you would make me feel better by braiding my hair. I’d try that on you only I wasn’t as good. After a while we’d start playing with my Mum’s make-up, messily painting our faces as we wore our plastic, sequined crowns. We’d even spoke in a ghastly English accent when I brought out my tea-party set, ”Lady Daniela, would you please pass the sugah!” you said, in a nasal voice—,that didn’t sound English at all—as you placed your messy lips ticked lips on the plastic cup.
Sleep overs with you were the best. Staying up all night—which back then was until 9:30—making a tent out of my blankets telling each other corny ghost stories as I flashed the flashlight around making the shadows dance that frightened us to toppled the blankets over us and just hide there.
When we wake up, Mum would always make pancakes, we’d walk like zombies as our chubby legs trotted and stumbled down the stairs, following the delicious aroma. I would wiggle in my seat as I waited impatiently for my food to be on my plate, the syrup was the best, the sweet sensation always tingled on my tongue.
But above all the best memories would have to be when I get hurt; fall off my tricycle, scrape my knee, cut my finger, hit my head, and all the other things that can be healed with a band aid and an ice pack.
Sometimes, I wish I could just go back to those days where everything was easy, and we were care-free, where band-aids could heal wounds easily not like broken hearts.
As time went on, we got older, we got into different things but that didn’t stop us from being best friends, just like before you would braid my hair when I was down, though the reason was because a boy broke up with me instead of scraped knees.
We still have sleepovers only we gush more about boys and school scandals instead of corny stories, but what amazes me is through the years I still see that twinkle of innocent friendship we always had, and that you were with me through all the bad times; always there with a reassuring grin.
Through all the times I wished that I was a kid again so I can re-do the things I regretted deeply, but one the things I will never regret is sharing my childhood with my best friend. It was the best, and I can’t wait for more memorable moments we’ll have for the time to come.