Turning Houses

by Virag Gulyas

 

‘Mum! Why are the houses turning?’
‘They are not turning, honey.’

‘Yes, they are!
’
‘No, they aren’t, honey.’

And his innocent, adorable, curios look, along with his silky baby skin, just made you forget all you are going through in your life.

You just want to hug him, even if you are simply a stranger to him. You just want to kiss him, and you want to say thank you for sharing HIS REALITY with you – the REALITY you have lost long-long time ago; his reality is only in your fantasy by now and your reality is only his in his fantasy. (or maybe only in his nightmares?!)

This is life.

But sometimes I wish, I would still see those turning houses as well and would convince you about it with that full-hearted kindness.
Nobody believed him, yet there was no anger in his voice. There was no anger that Mum does not believe. There was no fustration that Mum will never going to believe it.

There was only pureness. Cleanness. Just he in his teddy bear heat and the truly turning houses.

This is life.

I was never one of those kids, who wanted to grow up; who wanted to grow up, quickly, by tomorrow. I am no sure why. Not because I had a careless childhood. But I liked to be there. I liked just turning turning turning with open eyes until I fall on the grass dizzily and then I could scream: ‘hey, look at the sky, it is turning!

…I liked that the ‘houses were turning’.

As if I would had felt that once the houses stop turning something magical will disappear. As if I would have known that once the houses stop turning your reality will be judged.

You will be judged!
And from that moment on, you cannot just say innocently and carelessly that ‘look, the houses are turning’.  No, from that moment on you need to take responsibility for every single word, thoughts, idea, and feeling.

This is life.

He, this little angel, took no responsibility; he said what he saw and looked at her mum to check if they agree on it. They did not. But he kept on smiling and enjoying his MOMENT. And nor the mother nor me had the thought of judging him for that!

When do we lose the ability not to judge?
When do we lose the ability to see the turning houses?
When do we stop ourselves for the first time not say out what we really think?
When do we give up on seeing the magic?

‘Mum! Why are the houses turning?’
‘…They are not turning, honey; it is just the train that is going so fast…’
Kép

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