When we were little(r), my mother always told us to look outside the window onto the green grass in the morning. “It improves eyesight”, she said. With only some fail, we would go to the kitchen balcony window and stare outside the grilled windows, pushing either clothes drying in front of us from obstructing our view, or just trying to concentrate on the grass between the black grills. It has been a while since I last did this, but I did so this morning.
I don’t know if my eyesight is better at all. I haven’t lost it, but it seem to work normally. Although I can never tell if different eyes see different things, but I digress. What I do realise when I stare out the window onto a lawn of grass is that if not soothing my eyes, it surely soothes me mentally. How we take for granted these things. I lived in a megacity for 7 years prior to my current place. I barely ever saw green. But when I would go home, a villagesque place, my eyes would have just before thirsted for the luscious green view of paddy fields or just trees and forestscape. When home, I would be quenched. Whether it was being at home that had an influence I could not tell, but my face (my friends in the city city would comment) was always rejuvenated and with hope I strode forward until next I would be delivered to the motherplace. The same almost occurs here. As if a memory, I feel full of promise and hope. In the wretched winters I feel it difficult to cope, but springtime comes around and I seem fine.
This morning, as I peered through my window pane (and the sun finally rises when I say this), I stared at the grass. I remember mother’s words. I remember that my eyes need rejuvenating. And I almost feel like that view is much better than the tears I wanted to shed for missing home.