(I know what this feels like--a powerful sensation of regret, loss and nostalgia. The reason you can never go home again is because that nostalgic home is a state-of-mind that is a product of you at an earlier point in time. When you leave you gain new perspectives and experiences that irrevocably change you, forever moving you beyond that person that left their homeland, and leaving you separated... even if you go back, because you return as a new immigrant, re-acclimating themselves to this estrangement, or displacement, ... hell words escape me--thanks for this post!)
How Green Was My Valley
Random Thoughts
I was looking at some photos my cousin sent me from his recent trip to Calcutta. Photos of the city, of the people I love and grew up with, of places and times that I left behind when I came to the US. And as I went through photo after photo of known places and loved ones I was gripped with pain and sadness. It appeared to me that every little thing I knew and remembered was changed and different now. The city looked old and dirty, the people looked tired and aged. And nothing seemed to be the same anymore. And suddenly I realized as a sharp pang of regret shot through me that the only thing that was probably changed and different was me and how I viewed things now. And I wept. For times that were gone and lost. For family that I had moved away from. For days that I had spent growing up loving a place, missing it every single day, only to realize how distant I had become and how things were not the same anymore.
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