It has been fifteen years, since she has been back to the old village. So many things have changed in the country. She had felt it the moment she touched down in the plane, the scenery outside has changed, the feeling of the place has changed, she has changed. Her two boys were looking around curious and impatient, unfastening the seat belts before the plane has even come to a complete stop. They were pointing and gesturing at everything. The city was different every where. So many new buildings and roads and people bustling about ceaselessly. The pace of everything had increased to the extent that she had to struggle to keep up. Streets were crowded and cars were everywhere, honking, spewing black exhaust. Her husband had been quiet the whole time, just taking things in. He was a city boy, he had always been familiar with the city where everyone was anonymous and hence protected. The boys were excited by everything. Everything was new to them--the food, the faces, the language. They were bubbly even during the ten hour bus ride which brought them to her old home.

She had fallen asleep. By the time they arrived at her village, it was already dark, they checked in to a modest hotel, already the best in the village. At least it had hot water and soap and beds. The boys were as chatty as ever with their boundless engery, bouncing on beds, flipping light switches again and again. After much work, they finally fell asleep hours after midnight. She heard her husband's steady breathing and knew that even he was asleep. She was alone in this hour, back home and feeling isolated and all of a sudden, afraid. She had written to the few family memebrs still living in the village to inform them of her return, but still, she felt all twisted up inside. What would she see with the first light? How would they see her? With these thoughts whirling, she fell into an uneasy sleep. When she woke up her boys and her husband were already up. They had already been out to look around and had brought with them exciting stories and strange snacks that they were fighting over, then almost immediately lost interest in.

She took her time washing up. Reminding herself where she was. The smell of the village was overpowering--cow manure and something organic and alive, the trees or the grass or the rice fields maybe. She remembered those lazy afternoons in the mosquito nets with sister. How they took turns fanning each other. THe boys were running around letting out pent up energy from the night before. They were tripping over each other and they were " Mamma this. Mamma that." Her husband, as always, wore that same kind nonchalance. They had two hours before the scheduled meeting with her step cousin and her step cousin-in-law. The boys wanted to look at the local farms, but she wanted to be alone. Her husband agreed to take them to the farm, knowing that she needed some time by herself. Before they took off, he had put his arm around her for a moment. At that instant, she had wanted to break down and cry. She wanted him to take her far away from here like how he had fifteen years ago.

By herself, she wandered the streets, some familiar, others unregconizable. The old grocery stall was still here, but it was run by a different family who gave her false smiles reserved for the visitors. She wandered looking for signs of herself in things, but everywhere everything seemed to have forgotten her. The field where she and her sister used to play on with the other kids have turned into a school. The little dirt path running through it was now a paved road. She wandered on the new road, knowing where it would take her. Straight to her old house, where she had spent so many warm happy nights watching fireflies.

The plot of land where the old house used to stand upon was still there, but the house was a stranger to her. She could hear murmurs from within, women chatting. THe old pear tree was still there. The old tree where she had sat on with sister all those golden afternoons munching on preserved plum skins. They had buried secret treasures under it. A beaded neacklace, a key for sister's old velvet diary, marbles and ribbons. She wondered if that sacred metal biscuit tin was still there. She started to dig beneath the soil under the giant root but stopped herself. So what if it was still there, so what if it was not. Those things would mean little now, although once it had been her life. Perhaps it was better to leave it for some other sisters to find and to make special.

The tree had grown even bigger than she remembered as a child. She used to look up at it and watch the clouds drift by through those branches and leaves. And sometimes, when a breeze passed, little leaves and petals would fall. She used to climb onto the lowest branch then slowly made her way up to where sister sat reading a book or just watching the distant with those faraway eyes. Peple always told sister that she had beautiful eyes, they were beautiful and enchanting, with glassy shadows like some deep lakes. Her own unfortunate shallow and small eyes were always something she was secretly ashamed of. But sister was always so kind to her. She remembered the sunlight filtering through the leaves lighting up their faces and the world around them. They would munch on pears, while dangling their legs distractedly they would dream of faraway futures.

The Future did take them far away. Sister had moved to New York, the village was all in a clamour when she left. She was the first to leave to the place everyone still thought of as a legendary paradise on Earth. There she would drink soda and lie on leather sofas in air conditioned houses. Then she herself got married and moved to California. She had talked to sister a few times on the phone over the years, but the distance and their individual lives drew them apart. She had given birth to two boys since and had been juggling with work and family. Finally learning to keep pace with their demands and learning to balance and to keep the tempo of her life without falling over the edge. Three years back, sister called her out of the blue. Just from her voice, she could tell that sister wasn't well. She hadn't been well. She had ovarian cancer in the late stages and was receving treatment for it. Even before sister asked, she knew she had to make a trip to New York. Sister wanted her to bring the boys even though she had been reluctant. It was hard for her husband to take leave to make the trip with her and the boys were a handful. But she did it in the end. She went alone with the two boys to visit the Aunt they had never met.

Sister never had any children, but she dearly loved and wanted them. Sister told her on many of those hospital nights that if she had stayed on in the marriage with her husband, she might have had a child. But things just didn't work out and at that time she had thought it better to end it with resolute than to let things unravel painfully and slowly. Sister loved the boys and always wanted them to visit her at the hospital but the boys hated the hospital and were afraid of her. She couldn't blame them, sister looked terrible in the last days. Her face was grey and puffy and her jaw hung loose like the those of the very old or very ill. When she talked, her lips trembled and her saliva bubbled. She knew Sister was suffering and children never can understand suffering. They didn't have any memories of their Aunt to fall back on, all they saw was this ugly, sick woman on a hospital bed who kept wanting to stroke their faces. Sister went slowly, fighting, struggling then finally sinking.

How she wished that sister was here with her right now. That she would take her hand and kick off their shoes and climb the old tree. She herself had forgotten how beautiful Sister used to be and how bright and golden the world had been for them when they were young. As she stood under the pear tree, memories came rushing back from this world straight through her skin. She looked up. The tree was blossoming, it was full of clean white blossoms. A breeze blew across the fields and through the leaves, blossoms waved in the sun and the leaves shimmered. From a distant she could see her boys and her husband. They were racing up the paved road. She took a last look at the tree and walked towards them.

Tree--under a blue sky, its leaves glimmer like green sparkles.
A woman--under a tree pondering a place she has not seen in fifteen years.
Soil--under a tree. Childish treasures are still buried.
Hands--under the soil reaching for the metal tin still alive with memories.
Tears--under closed eye lids.
Questions--under the blue sky as mute as sealed lips.
Boy--under the tree looking up at his mother.
Tree--under a blue sky, its leaves whispering in the breeze.
Breeze--through the leaves and over the fields.