And everything she symbolizes – the familiar sights and sounds, the period of our lives embedded in long term memory with our mothers, sisters, aunties and neighbors in it, the uniform sound of a sewing machine intertwined with casual chitchat. I still remember those gentle hands, gliding skillfully over soft materials, more than capable of turning a piece of fabric into lovable garments.
Even my first girlfriend, the sweetest of souls, from a family of many, used to make clothes for herself, in patterns and colors she desired, as tight as I could wish, to perfectly fit the young man’s eye.
Nowadays, the skill has migrated to distant lands, in search of a new pair of hands, not necessarily gentler, certainly cheaper.
Time flies. We are left to do what people whose expiry date is fast approaching do – recycle the recollection of the good old days, the age when we were young and good looking. Now, we are only good looking. Such is life.