Tonight, my head is filled with images from my past.

I see my young self, tanned so dark that other kids asked if I was Indian. I had thick, curly hair. I wore black-rimmed glasses with one arm taped on with masking tape. The tape was a light cream color. I used a marker and painted it black.

I miss those days. The days before life had its way with me and shaped my soul, and my innocence turned into experience.

I see the house I grew up in. My parents built most of it themselves, when they were young, and had more love than experience themselves. I understand today why my parents appeared muted to me. Things did not turn out the way they dreamed and hoped it would. The same happened to me, and probably to most of us.

I remember the street our house was on—Wicht Street, number 29, in the middle of the block. The love of my life also lived on Wicht Street, across the road, but on one corner off the block.

I remember how she loved me. How her affection and attention made me whole, filling in many of the empty spaces in my head. I remember how we argued. I remember the fire in her eyes when she felt unheard. I remember how we made up by making out. She was the best thing that ever happened to me.

I went to college and we broke up. I will always love her. To this day when I think of her I smile first, then remember that she required effort, lots of effort, and my smile subsides a little. She shaped me in so many ways, made me more aware and present. It helped me to live a great life, just with the wrong person.

We reconnected recently. She is still the one, but she will never be mine. She belongs to herself, and the same is true for me.

I remember my first car, a white Mini 1275E. I loved that car, but I did not appreciate it or care for it as well as I should have—just like the woman I still love.

I am not sad about the past. Someone wrote that if given the chance to time travel, you should never go back in time and undo anything you want to change. When you do this, you will erase yourself. I happen to like myself and who I have become.

This is why those were the good old days. Those early experiences laid the foundation for my future self.

I am sad for my motherland. It has deteriorated into something unrecognizable. I miss it, how it was. It breaks my heart to think that it might never recover and just be another failed African state.

Nothing ever stays the same. It isn’t smart to think that you are set for life, have all you will ever need, and have achieved lasting success.

This is not true.

Enjoy today before it becomes one of the good old days.

It will.