I walk through the concrete path winding through the gardens outside my college, looking around fondly at the white magnolias in bloom, its sweet scent in the air. Its petals match the fluffy clouds lazily gliding through the air. As the sun sets on the edge of the lake, I hear the delighted screams of little children running on the grass, giggling and looking back at their parents with a grin on their faces. But when I look longer at the grass, I see specks of plastic between its bright green glades, bags and bottles floating on the water. And when I look up again, smiling fondly at the little child in front of me, I see a phone in her hands as she stumbles along, her face illuminated by the bright screen. I realize the calls of the birds and children's laughter are muffled as music blasts through my earphones. I suddenly feel my heart sink, as I long for a world I cannot remember. 

 

Walking up the steps to the subway, my eyes adjust to the low lighting and the grey stone walls. As I wait for my train on the crowded platform, I think back to my childhood, when I was probably one of those little children running around in a park, with no worries, the sky as clear and bright as can be. I'm snapped out of my thoughts when I feel myself being pushed into the train cabin by the mob of people surrounding me, all cloaked in drab clothes and miserable expressions. As I enter the cabin, people push past each other for a singular empty seat, all vying hungrily for a chance to sit, even for one stop.

 

I switch on my phone and scroll through my camera roll, suddenly feeling sentimental as I try to recall my childhood. It feels like an eternity ago, although I have barely lived twenty years. I look at the grainy, poorly exposed film pictures my parents took of me at two years old, back when film cameras were a novelty and not a trend. Behind me in the photograph is the small apartment we lived in, just the three of us. From the small, grilled windows we could see the forest in the background, where the lane of buildings ended, and the kites and eagles soared above the canopies. I smile softly, thinking of how a monkey that had come from the forest had tried to snatch my bag from me once as I waited for the school bus. I remember how my mother told me that after the incident, I refused to go to the zoo for years because I was terrified a monkey would attack me again. 

 

The recorded announcement plays as my stop is announced. Sighing, I pick up my heavy bag off the floor and wait for the train to stop at the station. I dread the walk back home every day. What used to be a beautiful walk with trees in the distance and the soft chirps of birds around is now a cement path with the sounds of a hundred quick footsteps as a horde of commuters rush back home with their eyes averted and heads down. As the train doors open and the rush of hot air bursts into the cool, air-conditioned cabin, commuters once again shove past each other from the back of the train to get down at the stop, without even an ‘excuse me' uttered. I stand there, forgetting to move for a second as I get lost in my thoughts, and people shove past me, one stepping on my foot, another shoving me so hard by handbag falls off my shoulders. I quickly grab my things and step foot outside the train, keeping my eyes on the ground as I rush out. 

 

As my right foot crosses the platform gap, I stop onto soft green grass, and my shoe disappears. I look back at my left foot still in the train, and my shoe is still on. As I fully step out, I raise my head and am taken aback by the scenery. The train station has vanished, and so have the people. My left foot is bare too, and my toes tingle with the sensation of the dewy, prickly grass beneath my feet. I look back in confusion, wondering where the train went and where I am, but I have been completely transported, and neither the train nor the tracks are visible. It feels as though I have stepped into a world frozen in time, with huts in the horizon and small buildings hidden by fog. Before me is a small forest with a path leading into the trees, created by the repeated footsteps of small animals. Off to the side, there is a small blue bicycle that looks eerily familiar. I take small steps towards it, and as I come closer, it becomes clearer. I remember now, and realise that this is my childhood bicycle. The same imprints of my little hands are in the handles of the bicycle, and my pink ribbon is tied around the basket. As I touch the handle, I look down and see that my hands fit perfectly. My hand is small and tender, linked by a short, chubby arm. I am about to get onto the bicycle and see whether I can still ride it after so many years when a flock of parrots fly past me. 

 

I giggle with glee, realising that my voice is high-pitched and full of innocence as I hear my laughter float through the natural silence of the still air. I feel light and carefree, and I can see so many colours, like the world had been washed by a bucket of rain. The parrots fly into the thick forest and land on the branches as leaves rain down on the soft soil. I feel a sudden desire to run into its outreached arms as the wind gently shakes the trees, branches moving, swaying and reaching out, beckoning me to join in on the fun. I feel reckless and unhesitant, running on the path into the shadowy comfort of a place that reminds me of home. As I run into the forest, I see the long-tailed macaques swinging from branch to branch, smiling down at me as they welcome me back. They gently sway the trees, as if sending me a message from the top, "Welcome back. We've missed you." I missed them too. 

 

I forget the smooth concrete pavement I walk on every day as I gently touch the rough, dark bark of the trees with my fingertips as if I'm scared I'll hurt the tree. I forget the bright, unnaturally bright screen of my phone as rays of sunlight escape past the thick canopy above, lighting up the forest floor beneath. As I bend down and dig my fingers into the soil, I forget the sound of cars honking, the smell of the gutter flowing beneath the city, and the taste of haze in the air. All I feel now is the fresh, crisp dew carried in the wind, making my face sticky and wet. Or are those my tears?

 

I look like a child to the bird picking twigs to build its nest, to the bees buzzing about the yellow daises, but I'm crying with the despair of a woman who has lost her childhood. My tears flow, dripping onto the soil as I am filled with desperation of wanting this world back. As I sob into my hands, I can hear the forest whispering to me. She murmurs into my ear, as she speaks through the flapping of a bird's wings, the cool breeze tickling my cheek, she says "Welcome back, dear. You can stay here forever." I wish I could.