Old Blanket
Assalamualaikum,
I could not remember how long it has been with me. As long as I can remember, the blanket has always been with me. I remember changing pillows, but not blanket. My significant years were with that one blue blanket. Now the blanket has worn-out. What was only a small tear along the old stitching has gotten bigger. Yes, it was once tore and sewn back by my grandmother.
Taking my sister in law's advice, I bought a new blanket. But all I can say about that new blanket is it is okay. Just okay. I ended up cuddling to my old blanket underneath the new blanket the second night.
My old blanket, it is nothing fancy or expensive. But it has lasted that long. Cuddling underneath the loose and worn-out fabric makes me safe and comfortable. The world can be mean but with the blanket everything is fine...
I could not bring myself to let it go each time I touch the old stitching. Each thread reminds me to my grandmother and the memories of growing up with her. It reminds me to how she used to hug me close to her. And how she would tug me to bed. And the morning incident we share for so many years - I am a deep sleeper! It reminds me how I have worked so hard on my academic just to live with her. It reminds me to the tears she shed for me. It reminds me to each second shared with her and each second more missing her. Sometime I thought I smell her scent in my sleep.
The old blanket reminds me to the old me. A naive me. The kampung girl who goes to school with mud on her shoes. The girl who wears anything her parents bought her; no matter how ridiculous they were - because she was just a kampung girl living in a small village. The girl who cried because she believes she was not as beautiful as her cousins but then told that beauty is not everything; it is attitude and academic that counts. A girl who grows up believing that. An ambitious girl who thinks she can change the world. A girl who likes "Cuba" for letter C because nobody her age knows it exist. A girl who knows exactly who she wants to be - her own self.
The old blanket reminds me to my root. It reminds me to the moment I realized where am I in the society. It reminds me to what we had, what we could have, and what we had worked hard to get. It reminds me to the green paddy field, to the blue sky during the harvesting season, to the white kapok trees' fiber scatter on the ground after the pods burst, to the muddy smell when it rains, to the warm river I used to dive with my cousins. It reminds me to the friends I used to grow up with. It reminds me to the moderate life I lived and how much I miss every single day of it.
More than anything in this world, the old piece of cloth reminds me that I am loved so much.
Wassalam.
I could not remember how long it has been with me. As long as I can remember, the blanket has always been with me. I remember changing pillows, but not blanket. My significant years were with that one blue blanket. Now the blanket has worn-out. What was only a small tear along the old stitching has gotten bigger. Yes, it was once tore and sewn back by my grandmother.
Taking my sister in law's advice, I bought a new blanket. But all I can say about that new blanket is it is okay. Just okay. I ended up cuddling to my old blanket underneath the new blanket the second night.
My old blanket, it is nothing fancy or expensive. But it has lasted that long. Cuddling underneath the loose and worn-out fabric makes me safe and comfortable. The world can be mean but with the blanket everything is fine...
I could not bring myself to let it go each time I touch the old stitching. Each thread reminds me to my grandmother and the memories of growing up with her. It reminds me to how she used to hug me close to her. And how she would tug me to bed. And the morning incident we share for so many years - I am a deep sleeper! It reminds me how I have worked so hard on my academic just to live with her. It reminds me to the tears she shed for me. It reminds me to each second shared with her and each second more missing her. Sometime I thought I smell her scent in my sleep.
The old blanket reminds me to the old me. A naive me. The kampung girl who goes to school with mud on her shoes. The girl who wears anything her parents bought her; no matter how ridiculous they were - because she was just a kampung girl living in a small village. The girl who cried because she believes she was not as beautiful as her cousins but then told that beauty is not everything; it is attitude and academic that counts. A girl who grows up believing that. An ambitious girl who thinks she can change the world. A girl who likes "Cuba" for letter C because nobody her age knows it exist. A girl who knows exactly who she wants to be - her own self.
The old blanket reminds me to my root. It reminds me to the moment I realized where am I in the society. It reminds me to what we had, what we could have, and what we had worked hard to get. It reminds me to the green paddy field, to the blue sky during the harvesting season, to the white kapok trees' fiber scatter on the ground after the pods burst, to the muddy smell when it rains, to the warm river I used to dive with my cousins. It reminds me to the friends I used to grow up with. It reminds me to the moderate life I lived and how much I miss every single day of it.
More than anything in this world, the old piece of cloth reminds me that I am loved so much.
Wassalam.
Comments