As I converse with myself aloud, there's a hopeful whisper that perhaps you, too, can hear my musings. The rain today triggers memories of my childhood when my sister and I, as little ones, would sit indoors, riding chairs and imagining them as baby carriages. Our imaginations were boundless. The rain outside prohibited us from playing in the yard, and the rare passersby were always in a hurry, leaving us to entertain ourselves with our own whims and antics.
Allow me to paint a picture of my mother, a young widow at the tender age of 19, leaving us alone in the house, locked in while she ventured off to work, earning a livelihood. As the head chef in the kitchen, she imparted invaluable culinary skills that we pass down through generations. With hard-earned money — and by "hard," I mean significant sacrifices and the solitude of leaving children to play on their own, a norm in those times — we, though mischievous, were still obedient.
Our caretakers were the night shift guards and the cleaners who worked evening shifts in my late father's state-owned company. Everything was communal and state-run in those times, and very few were independent entrepreneurs, just like my father working in a government job. Rain fell on that day. We were indoors, playing and exploring with the new chairs, a significant investment for our modest household. We quickly grasped their potential for mischief. I can't pinpoint whose idea it was, but when my tired mother returned home, her astonishment was palpable. She sat down, bravely holding back tears that threatened to cascade.
And so, today's rain transports me back to childhood, reminiscent of those days of innocent play. Life progresses, times change, yet the essence remains unchanged. It was a beautiful time to be a child — a time when joy stemmed from imaginative play rather than screens, games, and cartoons.
Odjeci kiše: nostalgična simfonija razigranosti djetinjstva Dopustite mi da naslikam svoju majku, mladu udovicu s nepunih 19 godina, koja nas ostavlja same u kući, zaključane dok se ona odvažila na posao, zarađujući za život. Kao glavna kuharica u kuhinji prenijela je neprocjenjivo kulinarsko umijeće koje prenosimo generacijama. S teško zarađenim novcem - a pod "teškim" mislim na značajna odricanja i samoću ostavljanja djece da se sama igraju, normu u to doba - mi smo, iako nestašni, i dalje bili poslušni. Domari su nam bili noćni čuvari i čistačice koje su radile večernje smjene u državnoj firmi moga pokojnog oca. Sve je tada bilo komunalno i državno, a malo je bilo samostalnih poduzetnika, kao što je moj otac radio u državnoj službi. Kiša je padala tog dana. Bili smo unutra, igrali se i istraživali s novim stolicama, značajnom investicijom za naše skromno kućanstvo. Brzo smo shvatili njihov potencijal za nestašluke. Ne mogu točno odrediti čija je to bila ideja, ali kad se moja umorna majka vratila kući, njezino je čuđenje bilo opipljivo. Sjela je, hrabro susprežući suze koje su prijetile poteći. I tako me današnja kiša vraća u djetinjstvo, podsjećajući na one dane nevine igre. Život napreduje, vremena se mijenjaju, a suština ostaje nepromijenjena. Bilo je to lijepo vrijeme za dijete - vrijeme kada je radost proizlazila iz maštovite igre, a ne iz ekrana, igara i crtića.
Authorica, Antica Zovko
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