I’ve always found it strange how the human mind clings to places our bodies departed from long ago. It’s as if every part of you agrees to move on, except for that one part tethered to your memories and dreams — anchored in the place you chose to leave in the blink of an eye. That place you once called home, hoping it wouldn’t abandon you the way you did, pursuing a fresh start somewhere else.

Yet, each time you return, you’re hit with the harsh truth: It almost did. You feel it in your bones as you walk the same streets, only to realize they’re not the same — and neither are you. It’s not that they’ve changed much since you last saw them. But perhaps the version of yourself that once belonged there has slowly faded with time.

When you reunite with family or old friends, their faces still carry the same familiar features, but the feelings have shifted. That spark, the excitement of the first reunion after a long separation, has dimmed, leaving only awkward silence lingering in between. It’s not intentional. You know that what once connected you was genuine love and compassion. But the undeniable force of distance and time works just like gravity, quietly yet powerfully pulling things apart. Some have grown older; some got married. Some started new jobs, while others left theirs behind. So much has changed, but the one constant is that you weren’t there when it all happened.

The place that once felt like home will always be home, but never in the way it used to be. Now, if lucky enough, you only catch glimpses of it. You might stumble upon an old building that takes you back to where you grew up or hear a joke that makes you smile like you used to in those days. But you won’t find it exactly where you left it. Because the day you packed your life into a bag and walked out the door, you thought everything would be waiting for you when you returned. Only to realize, it wouldn’t be — just as you didn’t look back the day you left.