He was 6 years old the first time he tried to bake cookies with his mom at their little kitchen inside a warm four walls called home which surrounded by trees and hummingbirds. Inside there he helped his mom to make the cookies into his favorite animal-shaped, there was a rabbit-shaped, cat-shaped, bear-shaped and so on. Although it’s a little bit messy, his mom smiled at him, reassuring him that it looks fine. His cheeks were covered by flour following by chuckles from both of them. Vanla -their white cat, and Browie -their brown cat, starring at them silently from the corner of the kitchen, Vanla was licking her paws while Browie was ready to fall asleep soundlessly under the sun rays that came through the window. The smell of newly baked cookies was filling the room, his mom carefully took it from the oven and it came out perfectly. He was so happy because it was the first time he tried to make it yet his mom made it so effortless, there was nothing other than happiness.
He was 8 years old when his mom asked him to help her watering her plants on Sunday morning and he was so happy because his mom used to always gardening by herself while he could only look at her from the kitchen’s window.
And the more surprising thing again was that his mom prepared a small plant sprinkler for him and it’s a green color, matched with her.
“Take the water from the faucet in the sink,” said his mom. So he hurriedly took the plant sprinkler from her and filled it with water while laughing because it felt so exciting since it was his first time. Browie and Vanla were running around in the garden too, chasing a yellow butterfly here and there while jumping happily.
There were so many plants and flowers that his mom had in their little garden. She would be watering it every morning and evening if needed, and sometimes she would make a dried flower and turned it into a beautiful decoration.
He was 10 years old when he found his mom was cooking his favorite meal after he came back from school. He could guess easily from the front door when his nose recognized the smell of teriyaki chicken noodle, hurriedly he took off his shoes and ran to the kitchen. The back of his mom can be seen wearing a floral yellow apron while humming, then he hugged her from the back and in a second she turned her body to hugged him back while asking, “How was your day at school?”.
Then he would tell her about what happened to him at school while eating lunch together at the dining table. Start from the friendly aunt at the canteen, his silly friends, the scary-yet-kind teacher, and his mom would listen to his stories while asking some simple questions to make sure that his son is doing fine. Then they would finish their lunch-while-story telling session by washing the dishes together.
He was 13 years old when he saw his mom and his father talked about something serious in their kitchen when he was about to drink at 11 PM. For the first time, he could see the frown on his mom’s eyes together with his father who just looked down to the floor still in his work suit. He hid behind the wall but none of the conversations between his parents could be heard by his ears, so he just went back to his room and tried his best to sleep.
Then the next morning after, he could hear his mom called his name from the dining table to eat breakfast before he goes to school and when he arrived there he could see his father too with his usual bright smile that he would give to his son every morning while holding a cup of coffee, standing in front of the window where it shows the garden that his mom made in her break time. And there was his mom too who was still cooking their breakfast while humming to her favorite beautiful melody as usual.
Just like nothing happened.
And nothing really happened.
Something happened when he was 14 years old.
As time goes by now he is 23 years old. While wearing his usual suit, black tie and black shoes he looks at a house in front of his eyes. It’s so quiet here, the road is covered by autumn leaves, the sky is now orange sunset-colored since it’s already dusk, he slowly walks to the front door of the house, it feels so familiar as if he never left that place since nine years ago.
He grabs the doorknob, open it, and there he is.
Home.
One place that he always remembers from here is the kitchen. Where he spent most of the days looking at his mom cooking, or gardening at the back of the kitchen, playing with the cats, seeing dad made his coffee, and so on, so on.
So on this day, he comes to that corner again, exactly in front of the window where he usually sat but now it covered by dust.
And so the memories.
The memories that left here are now covered by this own place’s dust, old and worn.
Maybe after it gets a new owner that will keep this place warm like it used to be, he won’t be seeing the dust again. The dust will disappear,
and so the memories.
The memories of this place will be replaced by the new owner’s memories.
Because now he brings his home together with the memories in his heart. He could come to his home whenever and wherever he wants, although it takes time, at the end of the day home is not all about 4 walls or all the things inside it,
it’s so much more than that.
Then he walks back, letting this place dancing with its home-cooked dust as the time remains.
