A child.

I see a child, young and carefree. I see the parents with his pram.

I see my childhood. It is at times like this that I dream of the rustic and quaint Chinese houses back home. I picture an old rocking chair in the living room, for old men to rock their lives away. I step on marble floors; a joy to the feet on hot humid days.

I see a Sunday, when it is a time to watch the travelling channels. There is a simple lunch, of take out chicken rice in white polystyrene boxes; of which my hometown is famous of.

It is hot outside but it is a haven inside. The fan is turned on to the maximum speed and I am ready to fall asleep on the couch.

It is a quiet afternoon; my parents are taking their naps.

I leave the house. Time is rolling. I need to go.

The parents with the pram I see. But the child is now out of my sight.

But I will always remember our Sundays.