It's morning. And the routine's the same, the exact same way. Almost, at least, except the only difference is that I'm much older, wiser. My body's undergone changes, yet somehow my mind frame has managed to stay the same. You know, it's like through living with a complete abuser and narcissist. I essentially almost lost myself entirely in the process. So this, all of this. This apartment, this neighborhood. Is me reborn, a new beginning.
Cutting, chop, chop, chop. Dicing, dice, dice, dice. Slicing, slice, slice slice. Those are the sounds that greet your ears when you wake up next to me. Except I'm not there babe, I'm in the kitchen, taking on the role of chef. The sounds of breakfast being prepared. Onions, peppers, garlic. Oil hits the pan, sizzling, then the veggies, they join them. One by one, group by group. The fragrance, the aroma overwhelms my space. Smells and scents that take me back, involuntarily to my childhood. It's amazing, the mind ain't it? The way it can help you escape, cope, remember? Ah-mazing The mind, it's known to some as having the capability of being your worse enemy, and yet, recently it has become my best friend again. So, my mind took me to my grandmother's house.
I was a child again, twists in my hair locked with multi-colored barrets and bows, bubbles. My shoes mimicking those that tap dancers wore. I'd always be clicking my heels, tapping my feet imagining I were a tap dancer. My shirt yellow, my badge from my elementary school PS.219, my bowtie adorned on my little neck. Gold shell earrings in my ears, hypoallergenic of course, 14 carat gold. I woke up every morning to the intoxicating almost overwhelming scent of garlic hitting the oiled pan. Sizzles as the oil heat up, popping as it got even hotter. These were the joys of having old-fashioned Caribbean grandparents.
Their home was always comprised of scents varying from potpurri, to dettol, to food infused with lots of garlic. Garlic was a way of life for them, as it is for me now. Cause you see, I've been wondering do we ever at all really change. Perhaps we change physically but were still the same on the inside. Well, at least that's how it is for me. I believe we basically just progress, advance, mature but I'm still that same little girl. I still operate the same, think the same, have the same interests. I'm still me, I may look a tad bit different but at the end of the day I'm still me.
You know what's changed? the roles, have changed. Cause you see, now I'm that grandmother of mine. Overpowering the house with the smell of garlic fried, it greeting your nostrils, slapping you in the face so hard you can actually taste it. She is me now. There's a lot of things that I didn't really take heed to until after my grandmother passed. Growing up everyone said I was the splitting image of my paternal grandmother. I never saw it and would get annoyed because I swore everyone were delusional. It turns out, they weren't. After she passed I began to look at myself, and through me I swear I saw her staring back at me . It was as if she was still alive.
And in fact, maybe, just maybe she is. Except now it is through me. She lives through me. My uncle, her youngest son saw me one night when I was in distress. He said that when I got out of the car he could've sworn he saw his mother in pain and agony staring back at him. He said it pained him to see his mother suffering, except it weren't his mother, it was me, lil ol me. Sometimes I look in the mirror and speak to myself because I'm sure my grandmother is deep inside me. Her soul consumed me. My body, now a vessel for hers and mine. AT times I do what I call "channeling" her. Where I feel overwhelmed by her spirit, like she takes over me.
Sometimes when I laugh, I swear I hear her laugh, echoing back at me. Everyone in my family loves being around me, and I now realize why. By being with me they feel they're spending time with my grandmother. The same feeing I get when I look in the mirror at myself. I started noticing recently, putting two and two together. That I don't just resemble my grandmother in appearance, but in demeanor, personality and actions as well. I am humble, so humble it could kill me. My calm, collective, tolerant, patient demeanor. My desire to make people happy, even if that means putting myself last. My desire to always negotiate and put the other person's feelings into consideration. My "mother goose" mentality and way of handling problems.
The way she designed her home, her love of nature, flowers. Everything was in a way transferred into me. It's astonishing and shocking cause each day I find more similarities in myself, the older me and who my grandmother was.
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