When I was 7/8 years old, I used to go to the playground that today is the protagonist of this story. In those years, there were no mobile phones, let alone the internet. The most sophisticated thing we could crave for was to watch hundreds of channels on cable TV... In those days, if you wanted to have fun, you had to get out of the house. Slides, swings, Ferris wheels and handrails were some of the "gadgets" we kids of my generation had in those beautiful, unforgettable 90's. As fate would have it, I recently went back to where I used to play. Inexorably, nostalgia, but also a deep sense of emptiness and reflection, invaded my mind...
Sometimes it would seem that the time we spend doing things as children is not of much relevance in our adulthood, but I assure you that it is totally wrong. .... And if that wasn't enough, hasn't it happened to you, that when you go back to a place where you were extremely happy, you feel a bit sad? This is what happened to me. My life is not particularly bad. It could be immensely better, yes, but it's not a fiasco either. I have frustrations and, above all, unfinished business with myself. However, sometimes what is really essential to our existences can be so very, very simple.
Sitting back on the bench where I used to sit with my dad was a personal but powerful experience. I swear, a lot of memories came flooding back and, in a way, I appreciated being alone in that moment. I won't lie to you. I don't remember too well how things were when I was a child, but I do have feelings that I keep with me to this day. Being happy, feeling free, making friends, running around without getting tired, and for hours! That life that only a really happy child can have. An existence full of carefree joy for the next moment.
But I came back to that place because I was sent on an errand at work. Which I ended up doing in a short time. When I got out of that occupation, I went for a walk until I came across the park. Time is a constant in the period we all experience in this world, which, plain and simple, spares absolutely no one. I remember, as a child, the facilities there were beautiful, colourful, pleasant. At that time, nature had reclaimed what was rightfully hers.
Inevitably I thought, would I be the only one to have revisited this beautiful park (beautiful, in my memories). I walked and walked. At no time did I stop thinking and remembering. I went from one place to another, trying to remember details of a simpler life; a time that I miss and that I know I will never live again? I even wondered if my daughter would be able to appreciate such a place. Nowadays, the playgrounds for the children of these times have nothing to do with the ones we used in our time.... I don't know if they are better or worse, what I am sure of is that they are totally different.
As I think I have already mentioned, my life is not necessarily bad or negative, but it is not what I would have wished it to be? Is this a sad thing? I'm not so sure. I think everything is best understood through the stages. It's normal, as children, with the element of innocence and wonder as a characteristic, to think that everything will be incredible and full of adventures... As we grow up, little by little, we extinguish that "flame"; that little torch in us. Perhaps that is the symbolism we remember every year when we blow out the candle on our birthday. We light our passion, only to extinguish it again. A park, memories and an unexpected visit...
All photographs in this post have been taken by me, and are my own.
Me ha pasado que una o dos veces he tenido que pasar cerca de la casa donde nací y las sensaciones son tan fuertes que me quedo pasmada tratando de controlar la avalancha de recuerdos y sensaciones que me llegan de golpe.La nostalgia es tanta que me duele y entonces prefiero muchas veces evitar volver a pasar por allí.
Sencillamente porque me llegan muchos cuestionamientos y prefiero no lidiar con ellos.
Perhaps, you should keep looking inside your feelings. There is a few things that can get so much better just by questioning.