You Can't Go Home Again (Where The Colors Dwell - 1)

It was a drizzly summer day when I set foot on motherland. Took me about an hour to get through and leave the airport, from which every step felt like a blurry burst of memories. To my surprise, (mom) امي was not yet there to greet me; But that’s fine, I am used to waiting.

Lifting my head was one kind of shock— “Would you look at that? We now have clouds!” I thought to myself. That one kid who loved the smoke machine back in middle school must have made it as an engineer. The blue sky I reminisced about was hardly visible. The atmosphere did, nonetheless, smell like home.

 امي had arrived. I dearly hugged her and damaged my luggage in the process of stripping from it. I was never particularly attached to these belongings anyways, and clothes won’t break from a fall. I finally let go of امي. (Uncle) العم was right behind. He hugged me.

The ride home was quite enjoyable. Most of these buildings were nicer than the ones this place had before. Maybe after a few more wars we will have flying cars— I scoffed. Sightseeing was, however, not the purpose of my trip, which is something امي kept throwing at me with each question she asked. Despite my excitement, I realized that unlike her, I had little conversation to make. “How have you been?” was about all that came to mind back at the airport.

The thought of the blue vase I gifted her many years ago also crossed my mind, but the ride was too short for her inquiries, let alone mine.

By the time we got home, امي knew more about me than I ever did myself. I could tell she really cared, and that alone was the best thing I had felt in years; Years of waiting, patiently, to come back home. The house had not changed much. Sure, it was a little scratched up compared to the last time I saw it, so what?

As we opened the door, I was first embraced by the faint dust in the air. It carried a lot of things, and I had mixed feelings about it. Perhaps the remains of my old doggo, Bennie, waited for me all this time— I scoffed.

Never would I have thought that someone would give me a tour of my own house, but I find امي to be a great tour guide.

As we slowly scoured every room, we encountered mine, at last. I was excited. My first reflex was to sit in this old chair that I shared countless memories with, but to my surprise, it got smaller. I then started to dig through my old toys. All of them had gone immobile and would not wake up no matter how much I nudged them. Perhaps they were waiting for امي to leave.

Attempting to address this growing numbness in my heart, I stood up, spun around, and inhaled the fading nostalgia with as deep of a breath as I could. In a dramatic turn of events, my flailing arms knocked over the blue vase sitting on my dresser. I was too caught up in the moment to realize what happened, until it was about to hit the floor. I had always been a bit clumsy. For a brief moment, time stopped. “I recognize it” my heart whispered. It was the vase that I painted for امي when I was 9. She loved it so much.

As امي and I were picking up the shattered pieces, I came to realize that I had destroyed the last thing that still had color in this house; Despite us being people of color— I scoffed.