When someone asks about your childhood, don’t reach for those broken memories that could slice and scar your fingers. When someone asks about your childhood, don’t get serene and bring back old sceneries. When someone asks about your childhood refuse to smell the bananas in the backyard of your father’s house.
Forget why your perfume still smells like bananas. Abandon those memories, the many afternoons spent in your backyard with your best friend, Tomi pretending to be monkeys. How both of you climbed tree vines and scratched your ribs; you both couldn’t stand the fact that real monkeys were absent.
Let those memories be. Lock them away in the old albums in your kitchen cabinet and throw the keys away. Tomi is in the Diaspora now. “In the diaspora”, is not as easy as saying he’s in Ireland or in South Carolina, Tomi is in the diaspora applying for cards the color of unripe banana. Forget Tomi, you told him you loved him in high school. You’ve recall that now, don’t recall anymore. The past is a myriad of shut doors and forgotten people.
Forget your father never looked you in the eye and said he loved you. Forget that you tried to kiss those 3 syllables out of the lips of every guy in your public relations class. You tried a few girls too, tasted the ruby woo off soft lips. Forget that you’re still searching for those words from the right person.
When someone asks about your childhood, say it was fine.