I become nostalgic when I come here. I guess the feeling of nostalgia is stronger now as I haven’t been here in a while. I look at the teenagers who used to be kids. How different their personalities were. They would all come and sit beside me and talk to me… about everything and nothing. Now I’m too old for them.
I wonder if good times as the ones I left behind will ever return. This place to me is like a box full of memories. And when you leave it, regardless of how much you Skype with your relatives, you’ve left it. When you return, all those memories that you haven’t processed come rushing at you to engulf you during your stay.
The children have grown up. The adults are older. And I also… am much older. But still not old enough to accept memories as memories and not the unjust hand of time. Maybe I haven’t grown at all… but simply become older.
I know when I return, this whole trip will have felt something like a dream. Maybe it’s better that way – I can relish in moments past as if they were untouched and unblemished.
At least back home my nephews can’t grow up as fast because I’m seeing them grow up. Good times do return. There is still hope for the future.
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