Something personal - Memories...

Somebody close to me, very close to me passed away recently. I was truly scared of going home after such a long time, and on top of that the occasion of the visit wasn't a very nice one. I was there, standing in front of the house looking into the window where she would always be standing so eager to kiss me when i enter home, or waiting for me in the middle of the night with, half sleeping in her armchair with a small lamp lit on the table next to her. Everything seemed so different without her. The whole house seemed to be empty. She was no longer there sitting all day laughing, or sometimes talking to herself. But somehow whenever i closed my eyes I could see her - I could see here there knitting, walking across the corridor, giving me vitamins to eat, eating while my cat (the one whose no more) tries to steal her food, sitting patiently when i change the bandage on her wounded breast, smiling, writing, watching tv....
So many things are there that we should try to remember, so many memories....
Somehow I never had this feeling that it's important to write a diary. I never needed to keep small small events of my life neatly segregated on the time axis. I tried a few times. I always failed. (I guess I'm trying again now but in a more informal and messy way) But still ther are thousands of minute things that turn into colourful paintings in my head...

Smell. Smell of vanilla, which always reminds me of one Christmas Eve when I was a small girl and of a tiny green coloured bear that smelt of vanilla. It was from a parcel that somebody sent to my grandma from Germany. Some old friends of hers. Who, I don't know, so I never actually had a chance of thanking them. Thank you now... I still love the scent of vanilla....
Taste. Taste of chocolate. Not a chocolate bar, but chocolate spread. I guess it was the first time in my life I was actually having chocolate spread. It was in a small round plastic container with a thick layer of some preservative oil on top. I was ten or eleven, in Biskra, Algeria.
Colour. Colour of the walls in my bedrom, well my bedroom in my brother's flat to be precise. We painted it together with P. I had blood on my hands when we were scratching the walls to get rid of the old paint. Recently I was thinking about P. a lot.
Things. Blue notebook. Bottle of wine. Earrings. Scarf. Key chain.
Dreams. When I was a child I often dreamt 2 nightmares. One was that I am a flea and a big old shoe is running behind me to crush me under its sole. The other one was that there are hundreds of stones just under my skin on my thighs. But there was also a nice dream. I could fly.... I could see the furniture of the room below me, I could fly in the park in front of our house.
Music. Dzem. Metro. Pink Floyd. Abida Parveen. Don MacLean.
Film. Out of Africa.
Thousands of small small things I'll try not to forget.


This one is in English for you both D. and S. :) Thank you for everything you always do for me.