When you revisit specific places you used to live at, there’s an odd sort of feeling that follows. You hope everything is the same as it was when you were living there, yet instead of pure relief that follows when you discover nothing has changed, you feel a strange little sadness. I’m not sure why, but this always happens to me. I felt this way when I drove past my parents’ first marital home last year, when I went to Ierse Predikherenstraat in Leuven two years ago and also, when I visited Rosenbergweg the other day.

I suppose this is because these places will always be special to me and there is this little tug in my heart when it feels like my past self is speaking to my current self. It’s odd, and a little sad, but it’s really nice at the same time. I can’t quite explain why.

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