Childhood bike lane through my adult eyes

Childhood bike lane through my adult eyes

It's so weird, walking the paths you once did as a child. You're no longer that person anymore, sometimes you even doubt if that was truly you, and not some impostor whose memories you sometimes recall. Some days, I wish to reconnect with the younger version of me, look at things through her eyes, to let go for a moment. On the other days I'm petrified that the younger me would be scared of the person I am now - the long-legged, hair disheveled, dressed fully in pink adult to add at least some cheer level to my life, with two packs of cigarettes in her pockets. A weird caricature of a monster.

That was all it was supposed to be. A quick trip to grab cigarettes. I wasn't really thinking inwardly on my life or my childhood self. These thoughts weren't that loud today. As I hopped on a bike I was happy to finally smoke, but-

Something else was different though, this nagging, scary feeling that instead of going straight home, and turn right, I should pick a left turn. Would taking this road also lead me home, only 10 minutes later? Sure. It wasn't about that though. Some part of me longed to turn left. That was the road of all the careless adventures I had as a child - sneaking off to this pizza place in another village, buying lollipops that made your tongue bleed, and taking pictures on skateboards. It seemed so distant. 

Not only the time in my life but the road itself.

So I turned left. 

In my childhood eyes, it was terribly far from home - well, on my tiny legs it was probably around 40 minutes walk and that was longer than the capabilities MP3 player's memory. But I turned left nonetheless. I looked at all these weird houses I did not recognize. The tiny shop I bought lollipops, ice cream, and colorful nail polish as a 9-year-old made me smile a little. Despite the fact that the place was constantly plagued by drunks. I glided next to the pizza place that now changed its name. It was still cramped in that tiny, weird-smelling place but seemed mismatched, like a puzzle that didn't belong, squeezed in between rich houses with trampolines, vast backyards, and stone walls. I remembered the appeal of venturing so far away to just buy a couple of slices from the garlic sauce pizza with questionable quality ham (oh yeah, how I loved ham as a child, compared to the 7 years old vegetarian diet now). I wondered if I should grab a pizza on my way home but decided against it. 

My mouth was perched down, but instead of stopping to grab a drink, I remembered all the times I didn't take water with me on my walks. I had weird drinking habits as a child. I was one of those kids that didn't get juice from her mum at school. Having tea in a thermos was a blessing. I thought not drinking the entire day at school was normal. I didn't understand why other kids had juice or water with them. So I also didn't buy anything to drink this time also. 

As I ventured off the streets, to the village road, cutting the corner of a newly built playground I drove in the middle of the road as a child would. Cars were rarely passing by on such streets where people still lived from agriculture. I actually saw a couple of chickens there and smelled them. But the smell that brought me back the most was the white elderflowers. I forgot that it was them that had such a vivid smell. I think I also used to eat their flowers as a child, pretending it was nectar. Some time ago I could cut some road home by taking a shortcut through the field. Now there's a huge mansion there. So I have to take the long way home through the forest. I remember the times during the pandemic that I actually ran these roads, dreaming of being a marathon runner. I wonder how my lungs had the capability to actually climb one of the hills. As I approach home, I glide out of the forest to the sandy path home. I actually don't want be here. 

The home is not what it was when I was a child. It is no longer the place where I will eat grilled cheese sandwiches from tomatoes. They are rarely in the fridge now anyway. I don't go straight to my room. I am saddened by the classical music that I hear. I know that this is not the childhood they deserve.

I am devasted.