My memory takes me back to the mud plastered wooden house and I reminisce about the coconut trees that surrounded it. I remember how the roof squeaked all night long when it was windy and it was windy so often.

The sound of thunder takes me back to chilly, march evenings and the times my cousins and I sat near the pond- covered in yellow flowers and ants in our hair. Running to our parents to show them all the starfruit we picked and getting yelled at was an everyday for us. The scoldings never stopped us and our mischiefs.

I go back to the days when Tikawati didi's laugh was the best sound l'd ever heard and her sherbet, the best thing l'd ever drank. A refreshment on midday heat for a bunch of naughty kids, what a treat! There was purity in the air and happiness penetrated in our souls.

I recall every bare footstep i took, every flower my brothers pinned on my hair, every second of wait for fridays because fridays were haat days, every scar of the cuts we got from jumping on the pile of hay for a little too long, every bicycle ride around the place with my cousin on the rider seat and me on the carrier whimpering about how I wished I knew how to ride it. I recall every jump on the river, every splash, every fall, every laugh, every giggle, every ounce of pure innocence.

I've learned from Balubadi that blissfulness is not an achievement for if it was, I was 9 when I achieved it. I found profundity in every moment l'd spent in Balubadi. It showered graciosity and compassion in me and I find my soul every time I nostalgize of the place that always will be and feel home to me.