The neverending wonder of Proust’s-madeline-moments
Every time someone of my beloved ones comes back home from a journey, I feel like Proust dunking that madeleine into a cup of linden tea, having the perception time is not lost and realizing the power of memory becoming present: an awakened joy ascending from the heart.
One of my beautiful childhood “madeleine-memory” is connected to my father coming back home after a journey abroad. I waited for him to return like Cinderella his merchant father.
He always brought me back something. I did not have to ask. I knew I did. And still it came always as a surprise. It came always as a sing of love. Of being loved. That was the only sign he had to express what he felt, wrapped in some colored paper or boxes.
Growing up, I just have to water down my memory. To put it aside in my mind as something I got, not sure it would have been repeated,caressing and nurturing the unconscious wish someone would have been open it somehow.
I felt in love and got married.
The distinctive sing of my love for him has always been the way I could bare the silence, even when we were together. I felt good even if we did not speak.
I have always thought this is a way to celebrate diversity, because two staying together persons have to bare the unbearable, somehow: silence.
A gift is something that breaks out this silence making you aware the reason why you are still here with your man.
Growing up, I became used not to ask for any present and still the kid inside me was thrilling to be surprised.
Becoming mother, I just operated a classic Freud’s translation. A projection. So I was happy just because someone coming back from a journey — a relative, a friend, my man — brought back something to my daughter.
But, eventually, all of us are fire smoldering under the ashes. Very cleaver at answering to fire with fire so that when a state of grace ends up, the fire blazes.
That day I realized I have committed myself to my tiny art of self-sabotage. I was stuck. I was not able to carry on. I felt undone. My man was out for a job travel. I had a night alone to spend and I felt I was going to freak out. I did not know why. I sensed detached and I was looking for a balm to make me thrive. I had to do my usual day stuff and I did it.
The evening he came back home, I was out with a friend of mine. We spent our time to theater. I dropped my friend off to her house and I was on my way back home thinking of the drama and of a vocal note I sent to my man along that morning.
Indeed, that day was my daughter month-versary. Since she was born I used to celebrate every month spent together by doing something beautiful or by giving her a little gift, just to express every little pieces of joy I felt being her mother.
Against my usual behavior, I asked my man to bring back something to our child not to me. An adult is supposed not to be a child further more: well, this is not the same for a kid.
And inside me, despite of that, the hope of receiving me myself something was raising as well.
My soul began being tuned on a “let’s-hope-he-will-surprise-me” mood.
My super-ego blamed on me to be such a kind of foolish. “Time has passed by”.
I arrived home, parked my car, waited the lift (because at night I did not want to climb stairs), got to my front door.
While I was searching for my keys, I stopped.
A blast of dots coming from my childhood treasure chest were forming a though. I was dipping my madeleine.
“What if I come in and find my favorite pink and black striped shopping bags?”
My mouth dressed up with a smile only a kid can have while facing the wonder.
“What if I came in and found out just what I thought some day I will buy by myself?”
My eyes were enlighten with that joy only a child can afford while staring in front of enchantment.
A running coaches of my childhood memories train were dazzling around my eyes.
My keys fell down filling the motionless silence of the night with an ablaze noise.
I was here in front of the door with this scathing joy leading to the edge of disappointment.
Suddently, I was in hurry . I picked up the keys. I was ready to discover what I would have found behind it: If I was pushed back to adulthood or If I was given the chance to be a child for a few precious moments.
And here you go. The door was open. My mind was dancing with wondering “what if”, “what if”…and…on the table…look on the table…there were two pink and black bags, the ones I imagined from the other side of the door….oh …and inside..look inside…a full collection of scented waters, the ones I needed, the ones I wanted….Oh, look at my face…I was smiling. I couldn’t believe it. I was stuck on the floor with those bottles, looking at them like Long John Silver at his treasure…I ..I did not know what to say. My wish just came true. My cup of linden tea was here on the table.
Time was hanging on me. And soon I felt safe and recognized.
I went to my bedroom. I needed to say thank you as a woman in love could do. And my man was sleeping. I came back to my living room and started writing this story, celebrating myself and my ability to unlock my childhood memory treasure chest. Despite everything.
