One of the most beautiful memories that I hold is when I first went to see my grandparents in Ohio. My parents moved out to Brooklyn even before I was born and it took me six years without going to my grandparents' home. My grandparents' bungalow is the most unforgettable place I have ever been in. Built with old architectural designs, the building seems to lounge some care-free grandparents as it protrudes over the growing trees in the compound. The structure is surrounded by eerier silence, apart from the sounds of insects and grandfather's walking sticks that echo around that raspy primeval contraption. As much as the sounds appeared to be loud in that silent building, they would not disrupt the vibrant tranquility of the building. Summer itself seemed to be basking in its isolated paradise in that bungalow. Indeed, finding another place like this in the world would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. The isolation of the building from other areas coupled with the gentility of my grandparents made the bungalow the best place to be in. During my first time in the building, I never wanted to go back with my parents since the building was a perfect definition of home, despite its old age.
The building was located near a large water body; hence during the evening, a cool breeze would move through the windows into the house to balance the high temperature created by the burning embers of wood in the house. The bungalow had a rectangular compound that was well covered with a perfectly trimmed fence. The compound was writhed with beautiful flowers and tall trees that completely sealed the house. Playing on the compound was one of the best moments I had when I visited them. My younger brother and I would tie a rope on two trees and swing from one tree to the next. The labyrinth of flowers and trees also provided a perfect hideout for the hide and seek game. At one corner of the room, there was a rusty piano which I enjoyed playing. My grandmother loved music; hence she would sing as I played the piano. The aesthetic value of the building coupled with the generosity and kindness of grandparents made the home a perfect place for me on earth.
The bungalow was indeed the most amazing site that I knew back then. Well, for sure it was the most attractive site; but there was one specific dark corner in which no activity was taking place. Out of lack of activities, the corner contained nasty ancient stinging nettles and tools that were abandoned by my grandfather. The tools were covered by an old rusty upturned Italian Wheelbarrow that protected the messy and horrible look of the corner. It was just chaotic and contrasted the whole essence of order and neatness that characterized the building.
The endless sounds of the crashing waves, screaming children and the authentic smell of fresh and old seaweed that drifted silently on the surface of the water near the bungalow added to the soft and sweet serenity of that place. Most of the times I spent walking through the flowers as I pick some thinking about home and how life would be like without such surroundings. I am so proud to have held these memories in my mind since I can now look back at them with great satisfaction. These memories would barely fade in my mind, and I would continuously reflect on the times I had with my grandparents and the scenic view of their bungalow.
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