I visited my old hometown for a couple of days. I was born in that town and lived there the first twenty and some years of my life and every time I take the train and travel to the surroundings of my childhood, I lose the weight of years and become young once more.
It’s funny in some ways.
I walk the streets of the town and my eyes seek for people I used to know. I look and try to see familiar faces in the crowd of the market-square, in the malls, everywhere.
I see nobody I know and I realize that I look at people who are too young, who are the same age as I, when I left this town.
I should look at people, who walk by with grey hair and grandchildren.
Well, maybe I exaggerate a little, but you get my meaning, don’t you.
And that’s the funny thing about travelling to the place you’re coming from. You return to your childhood, you become a child once more and yet, you have the knowledge and experiences of an adult. You don’t have to be afraid like a child. You can feel yourself safe.
No wonder so many people return home after the long years some where else, to the roots where they come from.