Dead Refuge

Many people had once a sanctuary in their youth, a place where they could hide if the world's problems or the personal ones were too high, and there was a need for some rest.

Mine was the grandpa's house at the other side of the village.

In the end of the last month I visited this place after a long time. More than a year since nobody's live in there. We closed the windows and doors, sold out every movable object and value. Of course, I was there, but not alone, and what is more disturbing, there is no more the old man.

I remember the times, when I hated this house, I was very-very young, and my parents were always banished me, to my grandparents, in the summers. I doesn't appreciate these times, my grandma was in a dying phase - she was a tough one, living with cancer over 30 years when she finally died - and my grandpa... well he was the strong-silent cowboy motherfucker type. For a child, it was really boring. My best chance for some fun was their dog - Marci - and an old monochrome TV. Terrible summers.

But then, somewhere between the last years of the elementary and the high school, I have changed somehow. Maybe it's because my father's increasing alcoholism, or/and my actual hatred to the world - yeah I was a very aggressive and "keep oneself to oneself" type of kid - so it happened, that I discovered the peace of silence, and the beauty of the cultivated land. As I said, my grandpa was the cowboy type, smoking heavily as hell, and he cultivated the land over a lifetime, I think it's not an exaggeration. His arable land were was a real Zen garden to me.

Slowly I grew up, and my "overly" intelligent parents realized, that it is useless to force me to these vacations. But after the first few years, I started to miss this place. So I just visited my grandparents more often, and finally my grandpa were getting more social - as I am. It is turned out that he also a Stargate fan, he loves sci-fi, and the funniest thing: The only reason why he watched these Brazilian soap opera shits that he loved boobs. Yeah. Fuckin cool!

So, we were getting closer, watched the shits what comes out from the speaking box, and sitting on the chairs at the garden in silent, like some postmodern Zen-Buddhist zombies. And I started to complain. And talk. And talk. And talk. And talk.

And he just listened. Listened. Listened. I just found the first non-internet contacted human in my life who I can told my anger, my fears, and my hatred. And he never replied. I think, this was the moment, when I choose him as my biggest hero, my "exemplar".

This house, this sanctuary is changed to be my refuge and training camp, where - if we accept the meme theory - I infected with an lifestyle and manners, what have not much future in nowadays, but makes some important things strong in your personality. 

But then now my grandparents are gone, and my mother and her family has no other choice, but sale the site. So I decided to do a last visit, alone, to relive the old times, or at least what remains in my memory about that.

How can I say? It was fuckin' nostalgic. The good old farmhouse, the garden, all the familiar trees... oh wait, we cut out all of them... Anyway, I sat down on an old chair, smoked a few cigarettes, and I peeked the garden. Zen itself, I tell ya. After the tobacco smoke flew away, I felt the house's own scent, you know the characteristic one. Asimov wrote that every planet have its own smell. Well until we doesn't conquer other planets, it's pure sci-fi, but if we removed the word "planet", and put in the "house" to its place, it is a real axiom I think.

I made some photos by the way, and during this, a funny white coat cat with yellow eyes are started lurking around. Funny, because my grandpa hated cats. Now they got revenge, he-he.

Unfortunately this cat wasn't a photogenic type, so I can't took any photo about it.

However the lack of trees, and the uncultivated land was really a sad view.