How ironic. The night before I’m due to depart the city of my youth, again, I fall in love with it.
For a long time I resented this place I had returned to. Returning from overseas was a return to my old ways, some twisted, sub-concious self-loathing that stopped me doing what seemed to come so easily when I was living away from home. New people and new things were seemingly unattainable here. I mostly just stayed at home. I failed to recognise that, while unable to return to those old places I could easily return to the old ‘way’. That approach to living that I had enjoyed overseas was well concealed in this familiar environment, a comfortable bubble that only now has began to melt away.
My dear father’s latest birthday present was the catalyst. A bicycle that, on the late nights I became bored of myself, I could take to the streets without a plan. It was exciting. I’d often comment in the past how I could walk for one hour in any direction from my house and not come close to getting lost; the question now became, could I cycle for an hour?
The city hadn’t changed remarkably between this morning and this evenings revelation, but my perspective did. I discovered what it was like to lose yourself for a little while, the mystery of a new city was alive and well. It was just like discovering a whole new world, in a city I’d lived in most of my life.