In this memory, I am five years old. One fine day, my mother gives us a permission to blow bubbles in the balcony of our tiny half-dilapidated apartment. My little brother and I jump in delight and immediately run to the balcony.
We each hold a pink bottle of bubbles solution and a wand in our hands.
I dip my wand in the liquid, then start blowing the bubbles. Just one blow, and many tiny bubbles come out of my wand. I want to scream in excitement. Next to me, my brother also starts blowing the bubbles. From his wand as well, many small bubbles are released.
“Hurray! Today is our bubbles day!”
Soon, the entire balcony is filled with the bubbles we have produced. Due to the limited space, some of them wander off inside the house. It is extraordinary to see the round shiny bubbles floating in our familiar living room. Gazing at them, I get a brilliant idea.
I face my wand toward the open balcony door and blow the bubbles directly into the room. Within a second, our tiny living room is filled with my bubbles. My brother sees it and joins me. We both blow bubbles after bubbles targeting inside the house.
“Stop, stop, stop, STOP IT!” My mother comes out running from the kitchen. “You must face that way! Don’t blow your bubbles into the room!”
We pretend that we understood her, but as soon as she goes back inside, we again face toward our living room and blow bubbles in there. It is fun to watch the bubbles dance around our living room and seeing our mother getting upset by them.
After a while, I get bored of it and start concentrating on blowing a huge bubble instead of tiny ones by controlling my breath. My brother is still having fun blowing bubbles into the living room. My mother has given up on discipling us. Instead, she now takes pictures of us blowing bubbles in the balcony.
In this picture, my brother is eagerly blowing the bubbles toward the camera with a cheeky grin on his face. Behind him, I stand with a totally focused face, blowing carefully at my wand to create a huge bubble.