I’ve never asked and I will never bother doing it. I am already convinced that according to all the psychology books I am passing through a normal phase. For the last months, I am experiencing a powerful desire to go back to my childhood. It manifests itself or, better saying, I allow it to manifest itself in a rather hilarious way.
I am not good at memories from my early childhood. I guess I was so busy doing my things that I forgot to stop once in a while from playing and experiencing to enroll memories in my brain. But one powerful sensation remained. The pleasure I felt when drinking semolina with milk. Not the one made for adults with plenty of semolina, but that one made for babies that you can drink from a child’s bottle. One week ago I couldn’t resist the temptation and I prepared 500 ml milk with 2 spoons of semolina. Everything seasoned with plenty of sugar. I did not go so far by drinking it from a child’s bottle, but the result was consumed by sipping, not by using a spoon. I felt such a pleasure that the process was repeated few days later. A dream comes through!
Staying on the same page, few days ago I rubbed for almost 15 min two yolks with a lot of sugar by using a wooden spoon until I obtained the most creamy cream ever seen. The resulting product was slowly swallowed to ensure a long lasting pleasure, all ending with licking the plate and the spoon. It was a sort of joy combined with revenging all the frustrations from my childhood when my mother used to drive me away from the kitchen when baking cakes. Why did she do that? Cause I wanted to eat all the composition before going into the oven.
Another jumping back into my childhood happens when I smell burnt nature. Either is burnt wood or maybe the burnt remains of the harvest, I do not know, what I know is that it smells like late autumn in my teenager town. The sensation is so strong and so real that I burst into tears. I cannot be sure but I guess that more 20 years ago, in similar circumstances, all I wanted was to grow up and leave home to be free. What to do with this freedom, I ask myself sometimes, nowadays?
What’s happening to me? Probably more things coming together. I’ve become a mother, translated: I need to take care of somebody, not somebody takes care of me anymore. It’s not a burden, I almost don’t see it as a „must do” this responsibility of being a mother, I just do it most of the times and that’s it, but somewhere, deep inside, I know it in a painful way that it is a irreversible thing. I am taking care of my child and it’s still me who’s taking care of myself.
Another rose in the bouquet is to leave in a foreign country. Foreign in fact is the perfect word to describe the situation. Foreign weather. Foreign nature. And especially foreign people. I register everything in my head, I analyze, I draw conclusions, but sometimes everything is so „foreign” that I wish I become a suitcase travelling physically back home and in time back to my childhood.
Everything packed together with this adult status that I didn’t quite get the meaning yet. I mean I have a lot of theories about adult life with which I live comfortably most of the time. But every time a crisis hits me, I end up saying to myself: It’s very difficult this adult life. Somehow I intuit that the answers are out there waiting for me, I intuit that happiness is possible also at this age, not only when you are a child. Or maybe I am too optimistic as a good friend will tell me for whom the conclusions came already: the happiness that you experienced as a child will never comeback, all we can do as adults is to find small pleasures going from one day to another.
While looking for answers, life goes on. Today a semolina with milk, tomorrow yolk with sugar, the day after tomorrow „bird milk” at my mother’s place (a Romanian sweet composed by eggs, milk and sugar in which the white part of the egg is cooked as clouds floating in the milk). There are days when I am just a mama for my child, in the same way my mother was a mama for me when I was a child and I watch her with such a joy while she is enjoying the simple food I prepare for her, knowing that this will register mentally and emotionally like „food just like my mother used to do”. This memory will stay with her the entire life, just as it stayed with me and it will stay until the end.