Circa 1986

My mother's daily listening to the 5 pm radio news followed by drama episodes from her red transistor radio.

Father reading the newspaper in the terrace overlooking the street, and tips of yellow Bougainvillea flowers touching the railing.

My calm tidy bedroom. Semi dark with its white light curtains half drawn.

The always sunny kitchen in the afternoon. Its two square windows with security bars faced the west.

A huge mango tree in the garden with the high monotonous sounds of swallows by sunset.

Piles of British novels, anthologies and drama on my desk.

The Polish family neighbors on the right side and the continuous shouting of the mother at her 3 year old son: Sebastian!

Our neighbor on the right side exposing himself quite often in his room with the windows open.

Watching Dallas.

Silent calm afternoons when parents used to have siesta and sun heat started to fade.

Long evening talks with mama whenever we sat together in the terrace. She was mostly talking about her memories before getting married, her beloved deceased father and her cold mother.

Noise coming from our neighbors' house late night. I always thought husband and wife were fighting and she was crying, but my mother seemed to know better.

The audible trains' whistle by midnight despite the far distance between our house and the train station.

Lonely evenings.

A random exchange of books with an acquaintance introduced me to who became my very favorite poet for years to come.

Future seemed then, as usual, too far and vague to predict.