Memories of Homes

Before we moved in to our very own flat, we moved around quite a bit. Block 271, Block 268 and Block 412 all became homes for our little family. That’s how life is in Singapore if you don’t have your own flat. You rent.

It became a norm for me and my wife, but for some reason, not for Matthew. He grew in each of those homes and fostered memories for every one of them. Some memories were more important and meaningful than others but they were all memories of his childhood. He is quite good at making memories. And he is quite good at remembering all of those memories. He can recall a memory at a whim and he can pretend not to remember them. In the end, some memories have trapped him in a time capsule. It has been both good and bad for him in a way. There are nights when he would just sob in his sleep, and when we ask him why, he would answer that he misses the old house. It can’t be helped that he would remember and miss the places we called home. But we can’t be trapped in those memories, we have to break away and move along. Of course, you can’t ask him to stop and not feel anything anymore. That would be more hurtful for him and we would not want him to forget those memories. All we are asking him is to not be too attached to those memories because that is what they are, just memories, and there really isn’t much that can be done except to reminisce them. So we have to bear it with him, his overflow of emotions from his sea of memories.

I have photos and videos of our lives in those homes. Some are more recognisable than others, but at least it bears a thing or two about the old home. I would have to put those in a printed album soon for them to be tangible, and I hope I am able to do it soon. It is unfortunate that time flies so fast that it is now difficult to keep up. But we shouldn’t be just in it for the ride. We should steer our boats. Some may be memories, but our home is, and always will be, where our hearts are. Cliché.

Our Home is finally our own
Our Home is finally our own

 

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