Before flying back to Iowa, I’ve decided to make a quick stop at Freiburg since my parents were selling my childhood home and moving into a smaller house outside of town. I didn’t know how to feel about them abandoning the house I spent most my life living in. Then again, I’m no longer living in it so I can’t really complain. It’s just the thought of saying goodbye to it that’s heartbreaking; the fact I won’t be able to see it from the inside ever again.
I can’t describe the sheer volume of memories the house holds; how many tears and smiles and moments it has seen. The saddest part is that I have a lot of feelings towards the house than I have towards my own family. As I walked inside each room with my camera, my whole life in Freiburg started flashing before my eyes as I greeted each memory one last time.
It’s amazing how a house can be a living, breathing thing. That an inanimate place can hold so many memories and take you back in time. I sat on my bed and waited for the golden hour. I waited for my favorite moment when the sun hits the horizon, sending a blinding, orange light through my bedroom window and into my whole room. This is the place my innocence seized to exist. The place where I changed and lost track of the person I’ve become. It’s hard for me to accept who I am now and move forward with my life when I can’t adapt to the person I am today. I can’t keep track of myself anymore. I don’t understand how or when the change happened. Every time I try to put my finger on it, another part of me starts to unravel, revealing yet another ugly, mean and bitter side of me.
Walking through the doorway and outside the house, I can only hope for one thing when it comes to home; that my apartment will one day evoke the same kind of nostalgic and bittersweet sentiments a few years down the road. Maybe one day it’ll preserve its own set of memories. I genuinely hope it might become just like home.