This Must Be The Place #1: Freedom

There’s a place that can reduce her to tears. The mere mention of its existence is a reminder of all the emotional baggage that goes with it for her. She has been going there with her family since she was born. She has grown up there as much as she has her own family home. It is in itself a family home. School holidays signalled relocating there for the Easter and for the Summer. It became the subject of weekends away. It became the subject of every anecdote that told me about her when we started dating.

There, she would tell me, she would be free. This place, this seaside caravan park stuck in the 1950s, perched precariously on a head, would be her manner for weeks on end. She made friends here, she required no parental supervision, she had her habits, her tropes, her wild abandon. There was nothing that could take her breath away in the same way.

Now, it makes her cry. That I don’t get the same feeling in my entire body as her makes her cry. That she can’t go makes her cry. That it’s 5 days away, 4 days away, tomorrow, today…. makes her cry.

I have never felt this about a place. Not even my family home. We moved into my family home when I was 3 years old and I lived there till I was 20, and then 21 till 23 and then 26 till 26 and a half and I have never felt the purity adoration and affection for it that she does for this seaside village. This is where she truly feels at home. I yearn for such a powerful all-encompassing feeling.

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