I stood in a kitchen in a friends house in Colombia, it was a overcast chilling morning, and as I was serving some Lentil soup from the night before I realized I could hear the neighbors washing the dishes. I heard it in a way that you hear things, when sound travels directly to you without having to be muffled by walls, door and other obstructions, and at that moment I smiled. I realized how much I missed that. I smiled and was genuinely happy to hear their voice and the sounds. It reminds me of my only real home, of a childhood so long gone, but so closely guarded against that bitter fight we have against time to not let loose of those memories which we so desperately wanna hold on to. You hold on to it as hard as you can, hard enough to smother it out, to suffocate it, but you don't care because you cant take the thought of it leaving you.
Sometimes that which we remember with tenderness and love, can be a very inefficient, unhealthy or in direct conflict with what we now value and who we are. Its ok and well that we took an empowering look at something that wasn't perfect, and that should never hold us back from changing improving and moving forward.
I have a past I have fiercely run away from, that I know I cant outrun. I have another past that I've been chasing and trying to get back to, but to which I can never arrive. I cant tell which I resent more.
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