(no subject)

[nerdflighter]

I was sleeping in the evening, but I was awake, and my cat was next to me purring and there was light coming in from the window even though the curtains were drawn and I was alone at home. And I had this sudden, vivid sense memory of being in Chennai in the summer as a child, and how the air there is a lot like Mumbai but quieter and more full of gold. There's too much pollution in this city for us to have golden light very often. Everything is tinged grey here, especially in the city-city. In the parts where I live, in a partially reclaimed swamp, there's more potential for that kind of light. But it's not the same as it is in Chennai.
I have all these memories of my uncle's old house in Chennai. It was a big first-floor flat, three whole bedrooms (out of which I was only allowed into two but I went into the third every chance I got) At the time, my aunt's parents lived with them. I remember seeing my aunt's father lying on the bed and I remember going in there to talk to him because I liked the old man and one time my cousin's cousin, the man's granddaughter by his younger daughter, made fun of me for enjoying his company. That was when we still fought all the time about everything but I also still thought we were friends.
I remember I used to sit on the swing in the hall and look at the squirrels outside in the trees through the large hall window and demand that everyone push me on the swing and my cousin's cousin would demand that I give her a turn. I remember my cousin feeding me by hand.
I was thinking about this and I thought that if I could just be there, I would be happy. I would be content. I would be alright again. I want it back so badly. I was such a happy child, at least according to my family. But mostly I think I was happy because I didn't yet know how many people I liked and looked up to hated me. I would always rather know, but it's so painful sometimes.

Comments

[amberite]

I think there's a thing about early childhood, too, where memories often become strangely gilded, regardless of context...

Sometimes abuse survivors struggle with this, because memories of objectively terrible shit get this kind of childhood happiness charge to them and people think something is wrong with them for feeling that way. No, that's just early brain development for you. "Having little kids in the house, it's like being around tiny drunk people," a friend of mine once opined. And... like with drug states, this state leaves imprints of what it was like, for the people who experience it.

There are different kinds of happiness accessible with a more thoroughly developed brain, though; they're just more complicated to get to.