This summer I spent a fair amount of time in my hometown, the place that for already four years now doesn’t represent “home” to me. (Did it ever represent?)
Since I moved to Zagreb for Uni, I came back just occasionally, literally when I had to (Christmas & similar) and always stayed for just a couple of days.
It always makes me feel so strange to come back.
As soon as the bus enters the station I can feel my stomach getting tense and my breath shorten. My mind gets kind of foggy while I walk those dirty streets that watched me age, that heard my laughter and soaked in my tears, that gave me shelter when things at home were rough, saw my first kisses and gave comfort when my heart got broken. Every inch of the city bursts with memories, has a story, holds a part of me - some parts are beautiful and lovely and some still hurt. I got a chance to get away from there just when things got so much worse in my personal life and even though we can’t really escape our minds, I guess I suppressed all that hurt, all anger and broken screams, I buried them in the dark corners, empty parks and grey streets of my hometown, leaving it all behind before I got the chance to say goodbye.
These last weeks I decided to soften, to open up, to let all that dirt come up and fill me in order to be able to let it all go... Those are all just stories, at the end. Past experiences that were somehow necessary on my journey, necessary in making me the person I am today.
My view cleared up a bit. It is just a city, at the end. Buildings, streets, people and the sea. It could have been any other city. It isn’t its fault.
Maybe one day I’ll be able to feel the gratitude towards it.
For now I am just letting it go and forgiving.
Forgiving those buildings, those streets, those people and that sea.
And forgiving myself, as well.