It was one of those unusual days when I paused to take a breather on the sunny balcony There in the . sun was an old style woven bed, with my mother's favourite magazine and pillow on it. It was one those women's magazines that I remembered she used to read when I was a child. I suddenly visualised her falling asleep in the sun, white haired and frail, with the magazine in her hand. I decided to seek out more old books from her precious collection and went to the storeroom.
How surprised I was to see in its dim interiors, not junk but things that I had myself forgotten! There was a large portrait of a pretty smiling baby that my mother had hung in her room when I was about to be born. There was my little suitcase that reminded me of my first job, my old shoes, books, bags and even decorative pieces that I had presented my parents on numerous anniversaries and birthdays. The whole collection whispered of my presence.
It dawned on me then how precious these memories were to my parents. Though their little ones had flown away they lived with cher , ished moments of our childhood. In contrast, how much did I think of them? I hope to deal better with my emotional responsibility now.
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