the early hours of the afternoon. a time when life is busy and flowing; when nothing is contemplated and the end of the day is still a distant concept.
and a slightly strange time for a memory to resurface, irrelevant but not completely insignificant, the musty powder sparked by those two infamous numbers brought together in the mellow pages of a book, that one can take to drowning themselves in for a few hours.
the events of the day, an already-forgotten occurence in my six year old mind.
somewhat preoccupied with my purchase from the day's school trip: round, hard-boiled sweets, strawberry flavour, the size of my thumbs. bundled together in a white paper bag.
i was skipping, down that road, arms outstretched. i could've been flying, with the speed and carelessness at which i was travelling.
through no way i could understand, one particular sweet became lodged in my throat, preventing me from flying any further. i spluttered, panic swelling in my chest at the newly-experienced predicament of not being able to breathe.
my mother, not far behind, although i never remembered her being close behind at any other time, managed to support me home.
despite the aching bulge in my windpipe, i didn't cry. i never cried, and wouldn't for another nine years.
the rest of the journey was quick, as the shock i felt blurred my vision instead of the tears.
my sister opened the door, which was the first abnormal thing i noticed. being a small four years old, she was under strict instructions not to open the door to anyone.
as i raced past her straight to the kitchen, i failed to notice my strangely silent father sitting motionless on the sofa, who i would discover minutes later.
swallowing profusely, i grabbed my favourite cup from the cupboard i could barely reach and filled it to the brim. winnie the pooh, with moving characters encased in the thickness of the plastic. i don't have it anymore.
whilst gulping down the water, for once without the orange cordial clouding the liquid, i became aware of the
silence seeping in from the next room.
it unnerved me, and caused a tightening in my chest, that i still vividly remember.
as i slowy moved to stand in the doorframe, a muted television screen came into view. i saw buildings, two, side by side, billowing smoke, the occasional flicker of internal flames, with the news headlines scrolling across the bottom of the scene.
almost at the same time, my gasping throat released the hard-boiled, strawberry flavoured sweet and sunk to the depths of my stomach, leaving a tender pain that i would always associate with the images i was watching in front of me.
my parents sitting still, side by side, with solemn expressions masking the underlying horror i could feel in the air around us. my sister playing on the floor, oblivious.
it was one of the first times i can remember where my mind went quiet. i was always internalizing things as a child, but this time, i felt i had to, not out of choice.
it was also one of the first encounters i had with the outside world. i didn't understand why it happened, or what caused it. i wasn't connected to it in any way - no relatives involved, and i've never been there. just like i have no connections with actors i admire, authors i'm transfixed by, poets i'm inspired by. and yet, they have all affected me, and created a resonance in my life that alters my actions and decisions throughout the day.
maybe i'm influenced by too many things.
but this is the memory that is conjured whenever i hear those two fateful numbers.
i have few memories of my childhood. this, for a reason i've never known, is one of them.
my trivial account of witnessing the tragic disaster that happened ten years ago, when i was six years old.
