A Journey of Age | Any Segment

On select nights where my thoughts are persistent and my mind is energetic, whilst I lay restless under the sheets I find myself detouring across fields and along familiar paths, now long gone and relegated to the realm of memories…

The journey guides me through the knee-high grass - crawling with insects and lustrous from drinking the Australian sun; between a small hatch in the picket fence, and finally up the two concrete steps that lead to the back porch of my grandmother’s old weatherboard house. 

 Here the air is thick and sweet with the rich aroma of honeysuckle, and the day is so bright that it’s difficult to see inside the house through the fly-screen panel on the door. When I lean one ear closer I hear the nostalgic quiver of saucepan lids as the steam escapes them on the stove top. I can visualise my grandmother still sitting in her chair at one end of the kitchen table by the window. She sips her granulated coffee with sweetener from the very same glass teacup that hides nothing, its contents rich like the pigment of red earth. This is the house that resides now only in the scant pools of silvery light. It’s the place that existed before my grandmother was relocated to the sterility of a new home, equipped with cold steel support rails and mobility scooters. And, even after that house too became but a memory, and my family had divided and cleared what little possessions she’d held onto in life, I still find myself returning here every now and then to peer in from the back step.  

The further I come on this journey of age, the more I find myself looking back to examine the trail of footsteps behind me. Sentimental creatures that we are, sometimes even the most subtle of everyday nuances can serve as time travel devices. They set off sensory alarms within, transporting us to specific nostalgic moments that we’ve filed away in our past.

Read the full essay for issue #2 of Any Segment here.