Back (In The Day)

I remember there used to be a very specific bump in the sidewalk down the street. It wasn't particularly fun, but something about it entertained me wildly, especially when I rode down on my red Razor scooter (remember when those were popular?) Once, I even tripped on it and fell flat on my face. That night, my sister braided my hair. Not two big braids, but a bunch of little ones. There's a photo of it: a big scratch on my forehead, a smile on my face, and braids on my head.

And, now, that part of the sidewalk is covered over. Maybe someone complained because their child tripped on it too. I remember, one day, passing by where it was, but it was paved over. It didn't affect me much; I was past the scooter-ing phase, but it looked so weird, so unfamiliar. And I guess that's how things go. Things change. As François de la Rochefoucauld said, the only constant in life is change whether you like it or not. I was indifferent to it, but now as I am preparing myself for college, I miss it. Not the bump itself, who knows how many more kids suffered the awful bruise-on-the-forehead phase, but the times when it resided there.

Let me put this is the most understandable way: nostalgia has hit me.

I've become one of those people that turns to jokes when uncomfortable. I used to consider myself and romantic and, even now, I claim that romance is dead. These are two very different romances that I am writing about, I suppose. However, when a romantic situation arises, I make a joke of it. Scared, is it? Am I scared? I don't know.

Should I bump my head on the sidewalk again? Retake that photo, with the smile on my face? No jokes, just laughter. Is that what I need? Or should I just take myself out of this nostalgic era?

Looks like I'm blogging again. See you later.