Memory Lane

The sounds of laughter filled the room, a sound that had been a stranger where it once lived.

My family and I are laughing our heads off. We had unearthed a bunch of Hi8 tapes from yesteryears, the earliest of which dated from 1997. That was a time when we were still living in London. During that time, we had also traveled all over the place. If not within London itself, we went all over Britain, as well as the neighbouring countries.

We laughed at how my mother got conned by a Pakistani in front of the Notre Dame church in Paris. At how ridiculous my hair looked 6 years ago, at how cute my little sister was (with an absolutely perfect British accent. Magic!).

My sister gasped at her fashion sense when she was 15. My grandmother looked on with a contented smile, sometimes breaking into a laugh of her own.

My brother…was my brother. He made a lot of noise, which he usually does anyway. But it seems to be louder and more frequent on this night, as if he knew something special was happening.

And me? I cried with shrieks of laughter, as images and memories of yesteryears were erupted within me, the screen a living proof that is as clear and as bright as a sunny day.

After that, I went to bathroom, locked myself in, and cried again.

*Written on 13 September 2005.