BACK TO MY ROOTS

It had been years since I had seen both working together like this,in a garden which was in the backyard of our old family home and it brought back a flood of my childhood memories.

As I approached them, their faces lit up with joy and surprise. They had no idea I was planning to visit that day. My dad, with his strong build and weathered hands, paused his shoveling and walked over to greet me with a warm hug.

"Mum,dad, what are you doing you guys?" I asked, trying to contain my excitement .

"We're digging a garden,"my mum replied, a smile spread across her face. We've always wanted to have our own vegetable patch, and we finally decided it was time to make it happen."

I could see the spark of enthusiasm in their eyes. It was as though they had found a newfound passion, a project they could enjoy together. The site of my parents working side by side brought me a profound sense of happiness.

As I joined them in the digging , we shared stories, laughter and even a few tears. Each shovel full of soil was a symbol of the bond we shared as a family. We reminisced about our old home, the memories we had created there, and how much the village had changed over the years.

Throughout the day more villagers passed by, showing curiosity and offering to help .My parents, always welcoming and kindhearted souls, gladly accepted their assistance. It became a community effort, with neighbors coming together to transform the barren land into the blossoming heaven.

Days turned to weeks ,and the garden gradually took shape. We planted rows of vibrant vegetables, delicate flowers, and even a small herb section. It was a symbol of growth and resilience, reminding us that even in the toughest times, beauty could flourish. And also this reminded of our old days with my siblings where by playing in the garden was the order of the day sometimes destroying what we had planted. This time I was a grow n up and I couldn't do the same mistakes but instead give a hand to my parents willingly.

As months went by, visits to the village became more frequent. Each time, I marveled at the abundant harvest, treating my taste buds to fresh vegetables and herbs nurtured by my parent's hard work and dedication. This time I dedicated most of my weekends to travel to the village so that I could taste fresh vegetables and fruits and also to have a laughter with my parents, in most cases ,it's my dad who would initiate his old stories when he was still a youth and I loved them so much. I remember laughing loud after narrating me story when he used to drive his pijot car to the nearest town to drink, dance and ofcourse to have some girls as he was still a youth. He used to narrate these stories while walking around the garden picking some vegetables and fruits .

That garden became a sanctuary , a place of solace to my parents and the village community. It became a symbol of love , togetherness and resilience of the human spirit. It also created some strong memories for the family.

Looking back , I realize that day in the village was not only about parents and their new found passion for gardening.It was a reminder of the importance of the family, of coming together to create something beautiful and meaningful. And it was a lesson in appreciating the simple joys of life that can be found in the most unexpected places.