Just finished my symbolic, personal essay for English. If you can guess the meaning of this essay, as well as what 'symbolic' thing that I was talking about, I shall give you a cookie. My butt hurts. I gotta sleep.... late.

Mil Alba

Embraced by the Wind




A cold breeze from yonder, the wind coming from the open door sends a cold chill upon my back, which rises up my spine, numbing my brain and isolating my state of mind into a lonesome feeling of abandonment.

CRASH! My head swung to the side and with a sharp glance towards the area where the alienated thud commenced, I witness a pile of broken glass, and in the residue of the crash-site, lay the old photograph of my grandfather.

Memories come whirling over my head like a raging typhoon as I fall back onto the comfort of my bed, reminiscing it all as I gradually fall asleep. The image of my grandfather’s face calms me down like the gentle heat of a hot, summer’s day gone to end.

Such memories. Such beautiful, divine memories. Some people may think that at the age of four, a child may not have the emotional ability to appreciate the wondrous beauty and people around him/her, yet in spite of that, they are wrong. In the short time that I had with my grandfather, up until now, I still believe that he is the most amazing person I have ever met in my entire life. He was the only adult in my life that never yelled at me, hit me or give me that nagging, “don’t ever do that again” look which I always seemed to get every time I would get in trouble. Yet, with any mischievous deed that I did, my grandfather would always have the patience to just shake off the damage that I had done with a smile and a hug. With my mother, every single juvenile mistake that I would take part of would usually end up with a spank from behind, either from her own bare hands, or with her black, leather belt.

WHIP! The intensity of the wind from the open door thrashes the blood red curtains of my room as I watch from a short distance, the storm, taking place outside. That cold breeze evolved into a boisterous thunderstorm.

I lifelessly walk towards the thumping of the door, slammed it, and within a few baby steps, I collapse and allow the bed to catch my fall. Blinking, breathing and living subconsciously, I curl up into a little ball as in fetus position. I gulped the air, blew a gasp of warm breath upon my freezing hands, and remembered the time when my grandfather did the same thing to me, after he had just been pushing me on the swing. The quivering trance of trepidation that the cold of the storm bestowed upon me slowly dispersed, as I remember the soft, warm wind that my grandfather provided me with on that day in the playground.

“Push me harder, grandfather!” I giggled, amused by the simplistic playground swing, with the wind accelerating faster and faster towards my neck, my only ticklish spot, causing me to laugh more heavily while my grandfather smiled and chuckled his heartening chuckle.

WOOF! Startled by my dog’s bark, I look down to pet her, but before I could get my hand to pat her head, she pounced onto my bed and started licking my face. I grabbed one of her dog treats inside the box located next to my computer chair, and threw it onto the foot side of my bed. Excitedly, my dog barked again and turned around to catch the tasty treat.

As my dog spun around in a 180-degree angle, the swooshing of her tail brought me back in remembrance of the times I had on the swing. The feeling of the wind that was bestowed from my dog’s tail waddling, reminded me of the playfulness nature of my grandfather. Each swish and each swash was followed by a crisp, wade of wind, with the light, tangy smell of my dog characterizing the friendly “spunk” that my grandfather possessed. Eventually, the swish swashing of my dog’s furry little tail rocked me back to sleep.

Spending the day with my mom at her work, I elatedly dug into the depths of my candy bag to grab a piece of gum. My mom would always bribe me with candy just to convince me to do little chores for her at her work, like get her some more paper clips, or deliver small packages of paperwork from person to person.

I sat there, in the other side of my mom’s personal office. While I was humming a childhood tune, and eating my candy, the phone rings. My mom asked me to answer it, and obediently, I did.
“Halloooo?” I asked.
“Who is this?” the old woman questioned.
“Who is this?” I retaliated.
“Put your mommy on the phone, dear,” she snapped.

Snickering, I quickly gave up my game of mockery and handed the phone to my mom. I sat back down, and watched my mom looking all sophisticated in her office chair, talking to this oh-so-important lady on the telephone.

After saying her goodbyes, my mother hung up. Tears were trickling down her cheeks. I tilted my head, wondering if the woman was mean to her too, and made her cry because the stranger called her some ridiculous name like poo-poo head.

Fervent wind. A few weeks later, in a tightly packed room full of people, the humidity in the air was not caused by the weather, yet by the heat of the tears from those around me. A casket. I wondered, what that long piece of wooden furniture was doing in the middle of the room, surrounded by ardently decorated bouquet of flowers. Was it a wedding? I love weddings. But why am I wearing a black dress? Why is everyone wearing black? I thought at weddings, you wore white.
My mother picks me up. Mommy, what are you doing? Mommy, I’m hungry! Mommy....

She brings me towards the casket, giving me full view of the thing inside it. Grandfather! Silly, what are you doing in there? Uh oh, you’re not wearing black! Haha, grandmother is going to be so mad when she sees you! Stop playing tricks, will ya?

THUD. The casket bashes tightly close, as a single, violent whiff of the fierce wind sends me flying back, into the very pit of darkness. No one is here... I’m all alone. Grandfather! Where are you? Mama? Papa? Don’t leave me here! Suddenly, the wind starts to blow the darkness towards my direction, shifting it up to my feet like the harsh winds of a desert storm to the sand of its sacred ground. The wind was forcing the darkness to overcome me, to my ankles, to my entire legs, my upper body... my neck... I can’t speak. The darkness was engulfing me! Why am I so helpless? I hate being helpless!

With a cold sweat, I was reluctant to have woken up. I still cannot believe how ignorant I was as a child. There I was, above my own beloved grandfather’s casket, and the only thing I was thinking about was how he wasn’t wearing black like the rest of the people in the room. I did not understand death. It’s ironic how I understood love; how I knew how to laugh, and how I had such potential ability to learn, yet I did not even begin to grasp the concept of death. The non-living. Dying to me was just like one giant naptime.

Although, as I got older, I realized that my dear grandfather was never coming back. I remember questioning the nothingness of the wind, why they had to take away the one person that was most precious to me. The one person in this world, that I felt loved me most, the one person that always protected me from harm and prevented himself from causing pain or suffering upon myself.

But then again, something from the wind reminds me of the marvelous times I had with him, before he had his life taken away. Every time a soft, breeze of the gentle wind strides onto my rosy cheeks, I feel the warm wind of my grandfather’s holy breath. And then I think, maybe he really didn’t leave, after all.