I went back to my old childhood home town on the weekend.
Early the next morning I woke up and walked from the place we had rented and took a walk around the old neighbourhood.
True to form, everything was closer together, older, smaller than I remember.
I brought my camera but the pictures I took could not sum up well enough how my memories merged with the real live houses and trees I walked past. The landmarks of my walk from home to school are already mapped out indelibly in my mind, they form grooves along which I walked, I don't need pictures of them.
It was the morning before a snowstorm swept in. The sky was white, and the day was just beginning.
There were no people walking around but it was so loud.
All the people I remembered living in that house or that one, chatting and talking and clamouring to be heard. The curtains rustled as I imagined them peeking out.
The snow that covered everything brought to mind all the times we slid down that hill. The shrieks of joy muffled by the new houses that were built on that hill . The kids hiding in the back yards along the way, waiting to be found, were scarcely heard over me trudging through the snowy streets.
I could almost not believe the time that had passed.
However, it has. By the time I made a full loop around the old neighbourhood, the voices had died down. A car passed, the day was beginning after a quiet night. I returned to my friends at the rental to look at the photos I had taken on my phone.
Early the next morning I woke up and walked from the place we had rented and took a walk around the old neighbourhood.
True to form, everything was closer together, older, smaller than I remember.
I brought my camera but the pictures I took could not sum up well enough how my memories merged with the real live houses and trees I walked past. The landmarks of my walk from home to school are already mapped out indelibly in my mind, they form grooves along which I walked, I don't need pictures of them.
It was the morning before a snowstorm swept in. The sky was white, and the day was just beginning.
There were no people walking around but it was so loud.
All the people I remembered living in that house or that one, chatting and talking and clamouring to be heard. The curtains rustled as I imagined them peeking out.
The snow that covered everything brought to mind all the times we slid down that hill. The shrieks of joy muffled by the new houses that were built on that hill . The kids hiding in the back yards along the way, waiting to be found, were scarcely heard over me trudging through the snowy streets.
I could almost not believe the time that had passed.
However, it has. By the time I made a full loop around the old neighbourhood, the voices had died down. A car passed, the day was beginning after a quiet night. I returned to my friends at the rental to look at the photos I had taken on my phone.
i live about 15 minutes from my childhood home, there are few people left, but all the buildings are roughly the same. i don't go there often, but my brother will drive and drive around, trying to recapture something... so very specific and invisible and ineffable... yes?
ReplyDeleteyes. Ineffable. That is the word-- that feeling slipping through my fingers.
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