She may have passed away a long time ago, the elderly lady who taught me how to pronounce “refrigerator” with an American accent. I wonder if she could hear my whispers, the unspoken words. Continue reading “The Elderly Lady With An American Accent”
Tag: Memory
A story about two lecturers
I gazed intently at the whiteboard trying to catch the essence of what she was illustrating. The examples showed how Old English changed and developed into Middle English. One of the important features was the words in Old English started loosing their inflections.
And then I heard a slight noise. What was it? I looked out the window. The fresh-cut grass was bathed in warm, spring sunlight. The leaves of birches had turned into a deep shade of green. It was very quiet, even the birds seemed to have taken a rest on this beautiful Thursday afternoon in April.
The cafe was closed
The wind was howling in the streets. The winter sun didn’t provide much warmth. Wrapped in layers of clothes, I could feel the wind penetrating my winter coat and wool sweater. The weather forecast set on my phone showed minus twelve with strong southwest wind.
I tried to push the door open, it was locked. I knocked on the door, no one answered. The cafe was closed. I had been longing to cuddle up on that Baroque style sofa covered with velvet in purple. I had been longing to get myself lost in some passing, incoherent thoughts, smelling freshly brewed Americano and cinnamon buns and hearing some nice pieces of Jazz. I had been longing to feel the charm of Australian accent.
The place where my soul belongs to
So here I am, sitting on the soft sandy beach and facing the sea. The longing has eased, the thrill is back. The soft sound of waves, pushing back and forth. It’s my retreat. For some unexplainable reasons, it seems to be where my soul belongs to. It’s just the feelings, yes, it’s all about the feelings. The feeling of coming home. Continue reading “The place where my soul belongs to”
Isabelle´s thoughts 