OVER THE GREEN GATE!

That particular year the winter was vicious with biting winds and the temperature dropping to 35 degrees Celsius below zero. The incessantly falling snow covered everything in a white blanket but despite its alluring beauty, people would break legs as they fell because there wasn’t enough shovels or salt to make the roads accessible.

It caused disruption in every town across the country making it difficult for public transport and food deliveries, spreading to every fabric of communities, including schools. The lessons in our grammar school were frequently cancelled due to the water freezing in the radiators but basically, there wasn’t enough coal to feed the fire and turn it into liquid heat. The unexpected decision to let the children up to ten years of age stay home for a few days came as an unwelcome surprise to parents, having to rearrange day working hours. Thus, free from learning, delighted children stayed at home, or played in the snow, reaching up to my nose in some places.

Mum allowed me and my brother outside for only a few minutes because of the weather forecast, predicting freezing noses and turning tears to ice. Since both of my parents went to work, my older brother and I stayed under the watch of our grandmother, who wisely locked the front door. Being a rebel at heart, I dressed in my winter gear in secret, then ventured out to build a snowman, hoping my brother would follow my trail, by sneaking out through the balcony, and down the ladder to the outside garden.

As minutes turned to hours, the day grew darker, but it was no later than lunchtime. Since my nose didn’t freeze and drop off, and my gloved hands still had five fingers, I climbed up the green gate and over the wooden planks of piled wood; soon to find myself on the other side of the street. There was a cluster of trees and further down, a small pond lay solidly frozen, inviting me to glide on the mirror-like surface.

Still, no one looked for me. It was as if everyone had forgotten, I was an eight-year-old, absent from the kitchen table sharing food with the rest of the family, who surely would have returned home by then.

The longer I stayed outside, the more determined I became to wait until someone would call my name. Perhaps my grandmother had fallen asleep due to her ancient age, perhaps my tired parents wouldn’t pay attention to the daily chaos with the raucous children. The list of excuses grew until a cold realization set in—my absence didn’t cause alarm. It was as if everyone had succumbed to wintry apathy back at home and on the mostly deserted streets.

Eventually, the severe chill compelled me to retreat my steps through the snow, over the green gate and back to the house where I headed straight to the kitchen. There, I received neither greetings nor scolding, nor any inquiries about my whereabouts. It painted a picture for me—the realisation that I understood something from an early age. That I was in this world on my own, despite the people surrounding me, and it was up to me to find the love I needed within myself instead of expecting it from others.

The other memory of that particularly cold day was my solitary walk atop the green gate around the house, easily accessible from the height of the snow. Every gate on every street had to be painted green, an authoritative decree deciding on colours and shape of the gates. However, when the new world order emerged giving hope to change the gate colours, Dad painted our gate in red and reshaped it into twirled ironed tendrils.

Much like my solidarity experience taking me back to that day, my will to survive was also forged in iron, but the feeling of lonesomeness has never left me. Perhaps that is the reason I don’t expect, demand, or beg for anything from others. I quietly accept that it all starts within and it’s up to us to make ourselves feel better. Your journey is yours even if you share it with millions of other people.

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