Depeche Mode, vintage shopping, Rock Island—words that you may recognize and others you may not, but all are familiar to me.
As I return home to where I grew up, I find myself visited by old friends—friends that represent parts of my memories and can tell you many stories of who I was as a young girl. My history.
My story consists of many moments in my life that shaped and molded me: some by design, some forced upon me, and some I would have chosen differently.
As I walk down familiar roads, my memories begin to unfold like light shining in a dark place, illuminating parts of me long forgotten and yet eager to be remembered. Why did I run from these stories that created me?
Coming back to yourself is a part of your history. The places and people that you visit in your dreams can feel like nightmares. But returning home, I feel as if I am reconnecting with myself again. This void I’ve been feeling was not a void at all; it was a forgottenness, a loss of memory.
My memories of a girl trying to find her way. As I lost myself in the search for identity, I now, as a grown woman, am coming back home to gather all those parts of me that I can bring back with me.
This is my gathering.
We are our stories: the forgotten ones and the ones we will create. And the void no longer feels like one.
The ghosts no longer feel so ghostly; they are taking shape and full form.
They are me.
Love S.❤️