When I was five, my mother used to sit us (me and my brother) down in an open door on the back of our house. With a perfect combination of a calm and windy night, she told us stories about tons of inspiring people for us to learned from. I don’t know if I still can remember any of those stories correctly, but those nights always reminded me of what a home should feel like. That is why I always imagining my future home comes with a tiny backyard for me to run away to.
Today I moved into this imaginary lot in my head and I brought a few boxes of memories with me. As I unpacked those boxes, I started hanging some pictures on the wall. Most of them are old, but I got a few recent ones which I loved the most. The pictures were all in colors and have different backgrounds, but everyone in each of them are either laughing or smiling. “A picture speaks a thousand words” as people said, but these pictures around me are screaming a word of happiness.
After I am finished with the pictures, I took a bundle of papers out of the box. Some of them were a few chapters of stories I once wrote, a tiny portion of them were music notes of songs with the most beautiful lyrics anyone had ever written, and the last part of the bundle was a stack of most thoughtful letters that people ever sent to me. This bundle of meaningless paper was somewhat more important to me than money, since I managed to forget that I would need a couple thousand of bucks to start building this place from scratch.
I opened the back door that connect the house to my new favorite backyard. The backyard was abandoned since no one lived here for quite several years, but as I started scribbling down narratives to its wall, the old and rusty colors start to melt away.
The Loudest Backyard 