In my life, I have lived primarily in two homes, each unlike the other. The first was situated on a small plot of land in Mexico. It had one room with two beds and a television. From all directions, the vast, bare ground surrounded the area. Squatting down on the ground, the earth seemed boundless. My eyes burned with the sun. With my hands, I rolled up bits of dirt and molded them into unpalatable food shapes. Those were the prodigal days of childhood when I borrowed the simplest materials of the earth to experience unfiltered joy as a “potter apprentice.” A brown, dusty spot in the earth was my heaven. Everything was familiar. Most afternoons, I played in the dirt and then bathed in a plastic tub before falling asleep, looking forward to another day of fun. However, at five years old, my life would take a turn. Unexpectedly, the directions of the wind took flight, and I found myself, alongside my family, beginning a new life. The journey was nothing short of arduous, and a few days later, I sat in the back of a car, peering from a window at my new home.
Before moving to my second home, I don’t recall seeing any verdant patch of grass nor any moss hanging on a tree or settling on a homely rock, yet in this new place, each home had a grass lawn. Unlike my first home, my new home had physical boundaries; it felt like a hazy dream where each house was contained in a sunny globe. Smooth roads and streets separated each house. Where was all the dirt? A flat, concrete path welcomed me to an ivory-colored door. Curious, silly, and open to any tactile adventure, I continued to seek fun in the open air. I remember those sunny afternoon days when I rolled around in the grass like a roly-poly. To maintain the lawn, my family installed many sprinklers. Barefoot, I ran up and down the grass while the sprinklers showered me. It was a cathartic experience to be free in a contained area as I felt the wet grass cushioning my feet. Cars passed by, yet I ceased to care. It was the type of childlike joy that seems to say, “Here I am! I don’t mind being seen!” That was enough to make me happy.
Apart from these joys, I also noticed the yellow starlike weeds: dandelions. Although they are considered weeds, to me, they were precious. These were nearly non-existent in my old home. I twirled them with my fingers. Their yellow petals appeared like the mane of a lion to me. They grew abundantly in our lawn and in ripe time, they transformed into soft, elongated, angel-like figures. Plucking them from the earth, I gathered all the air in my lungs to scatter their fuzzy seeds. Dandelions remind me of the simple joys of life, especially childhood.
Time has passed, and now, I have accumulated more responsibilities. As I walk to work or class, I notice, on the sides of pavements, dandelions in their ballerina-like figures. Occasionally, I stop and bend down to pick one up. Naturally, I blow on it, cherishing this whimsical moment. Its seeds float in the air and I watch as they slowly descend. I simply smile and continue my way.
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