Childhood

I was born in Oman. My only memories of those formative years are composed out of a few primitive yet powerful feelings, smells and images that pop up in my mind when I am confronted with certain triggers.

My mother used to give me unleavened Arabic flat-bread to munch on - a memory that came flooding back when I was in Jordan and got handed khobs, the same type of bread. But when it comes down to raisins I screw up my face. Most likely I had quite the overdose during my first five years on this earth.
As always we were living nearby the sea, and when I close my eyes I can recall our boat, it was black and red and my parents tell me that the rougher the waves were the more soundly their pint-sized kidlet slept. Some things never change, even when you grow up.
I don't remember much about going to school (then again I have trouble remembering university too) but I still have that red cup that has 'Ras Al Hambra Kindergarten' printed on it in white letters (an excellent vessel for gin & tonics on a hot summer's day)

Three decades later and I have returned to work and live in the vicinity of my birthplace. As a dive instructor I regularly dive in Oman and it thrills me to bits to be able to go back and have the opportunity to see where I came from through fresh eyes.
Whilst I am here I am planning to travel to Oman, this time not below the ocean's surface but on land. Hopefully my mother or father will come with me, and show me around. A full circle, and it feels as if everything falls into place.