weakened body. The cold envelops my entire body as I crawl restlessly towards my last bit ... wisdom, even though he was
Your local community is publishing a collection of young people’s imaginative writing about Discovery. Choose ONE image from the noticeboard. Use this image as the basis for your contribution to the collection. By Victoria Lombardo
My footsteps inch closer to my refuge. Each step slides against the slippery slope as I grip tightly for survival. Higher and higher I climb. Dirt falls to my face as my hands grip the edge of the plank. My harsh breathing is whisked away by the wind pushing against my weakened body. The cold envelops my entire body as I crawl restlessly towards my last bit of hope… What will the other side of the mountain lead me to believe? Will it be the same as it once was? I reminisce over what I once called home. In actual fact, Giovenazzo - situated in Bari, Italy - was what it was technically called. People lived in apartments or condominium buildings because of the little space that was available. I grew up in one of the many buildings in Giovenazzo, always admiring from my small bedroom window the beauty of the mountains. Always exploring, with my eyes, the forest or the meadows,; looking for a tranquil and spacious place where I could pass the time. My Nonna believed she was the mother of the village, preparing food for everyone... and I mean everyone. She didn’t stop cooking. Nonna’s bellowing tone could be heard from the other side of town. “Manga manga manga!” (“eat, eat, eat!”) she would scold. Yet I was oblivious to her berating. Instead I would sit on a rock and watch the town pass by, with a full plate of steaming food on my lap. Nonno was known to be the outspoken noble, because everyone listened to his words of wisdom, even though he was an old man on the brinks of insanity. Although he had a strange mind of his own, he always pursued a world of love and happiness, which brought our village closer and closer.
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Suddenly, An image of my village in flames bursts in my mind. The fire alive, filling my entire body until I can no longer escape. Its flames dive low, each limb thrashing as the serpent of evil torments my emotions. The town lies in chaos - wailing and petrified children, mothers, fathers. Pain. I feel pain. Reality entwines with my subconscious, just as my heightened emotions start to wear off. My weakness strengthens by the second I reach the top of the plank. I force my feet to move in rhythm with one another, struggling with the coordination. My eyes adjust to the scene around me. To the west I see the clearing of trees, so familiar by which they are the very ones I had raggedly climbed, years ago. The higher and higher I climbed, the more I yearned to reach the top. It was striving ambition. Each step led me to a secret world above. I used to go there to dream with my eyes open, admiring the vast world. The leaves appeared to come alive - twisting, turning, and dancing about in the meadow. Vibrant colours of red and orange. The brittle autumn leaves seemed to be having a party, and as the party moved out of sight, I began to think about the last time I visited the meadow. I succumb to the scents, and sounds of the meadow. It was ever so peaceful. Slowly, the hurt within subsides. I continue my pace past the branches of life and reach my ultimate destination. I’m constantly in this mind of mine, in and out of consciousness, unsure if I’m living a dream or reality. To my shock, I discover that the tiny frame of windows, the tattered roof which once protected my very head and the wooden front door appears to be in the same form as it was thirty years ago. My town remains untouched as it once was. The memories of that life pour throughout me and explode in a flurry. I reach the door and momentarily imagine the emptiness of what may exist within. I crouch to the ground, and, surprisingly, the hidden key had remained there after so long. Hesitating, I turn the lock. The door squeals as if it were crying out in pain. To my utter astonishment, what lies within is how I left it the very day I pledged my goodbyes. Lounge, radio TV, fire stove. Entering inside, I am surprisingly enveloped with the overwhelming need for love. My nose catches the faint smell of fratelli’s, my favourite tomato inspired cheese tradition Nonna would creatively produce. Can it be? My body convulses with desire. My footsteps quicken as I enter the chambers of my room. My bed still pushed into the corner of the narrow space. I dive onto it, and a cloud of dust quickly rises. I lay there for a few moments in silence. My eyes wander in awe at the rustic dresser that stands beside me – each drawer containing hidden memories that I cherished throughout my childhood. The unsteady handles shake, replicating my fear inside. What lies within will always be a place of refuge. The old dresser may appear to be nothing for someone else, but to me it was everything . It contains many of our family's best times and fondest memories. It will forever hold the grace of my Nonna’s letter, whose words encouraged me to pursue a profession outside the confined space of the village. The part that always strikes a chord is her words ‘The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes’. From that moment on I wanted to become a woman of pride, independence and determination. Leaving my village allowed me to withdraw from the pain. The urn lay in front of me as I wept like a broken soul ripped into pieces. I felt the presence of Nonno beside me. He never shared a hint of
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his emotion. But deep down I believed he was grieving in his own way, for his love who was no longer present. I reluctantly stand, my knees no longer wobbling, for I’m filled with all of the greatest memories I shared with Nonna. Everything within this village remained the same as it once was before the mother of Giovenazzo had left us. As if it were a tribute. I no longer felt a sense of hopelessness or discomfort. For the first time in what felt like forever, a heartfelt smile creeps across my face. My eyes open to the world it once was, one that actually never changed. The truth is, although home was the place I grew up wanting to leave, as I continued to grow older, it’s now the place I want to go back to. My grief drifts away, lost in the mountains.
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