What do you do an a quiet, rainy Sunday when (for the first time in a really long while) there is not a single urgent work? And even more – when there is no internet? You take the time and write about something you’ve wanted to write about for some time now.
Time and space: two concepts that are equally simple yet quite indefinable. A million things happen in the same place at different points in time, some more memorable than others. You might not think about the countless tiny events that take place in your own room every day, but especially travelling to the same (special) place for time and time again would leave you with quite different results.
I’d call it: attaching memories to places. You may always remember the first time you’ve seen a sight but with every successive time of visit this first memory is overlapped with a new one. For better or for worse? Which one is stronger? And can some be replaced?
On a city’s docks I may remember the first walk there – a winter night’s lights and the nearness of a loved one. I may remember a windy Saturday and the childlike joy on my travel companion’s face who’s there for the first time. Or maybe a spring sunshine on a beautiful Sunday in the company of good friends? None of the memories erases the others, they overlap and are like pieces of tarnished jewellery – a little dimmer but nevertheless dear.