#ceciliewritesstuff

We are still in our twenties in our heads. Those young things on that table over there look impossibly young and glamorous.

Who were those people we briefly saw a glimpse of in the shop window as we walked past? Those exhausted looking ladies, slightly limping down the street taking up the whole sidewalk. Was that us?

We continue walking, laughing it all away. It can’t possibly be. Cause we are young and still fit into our size 8 wardrobes. We can dance till the music stops, and stay up to greet daylight.

We are still the same girls, giggling side by side over this and that.

You know when you were young and walked along the stone fences after hours of throwing rocks into the fjord, and thought these kind of moments would last forever? Most days they seem so distant, yet somehow so close you can almost imagining touching them again. Only a few millimetres away from your finger tips, as you stretch towards the memories that has survived your poor memory. 

As you grow up, every now and then you come back to these moments and places. Curious to see if anything is left of that old magic, if the place has survived time, if it somehow has still lasted. 

I recently went home and this curiosity awoke. From my lovely London flat to my original home country; Norway. The places where I used to look for little crabs under rocks and the wooden docks I dangled my feet were calling me. What is home? A confusing question to anyone relocated from their original roots. Which place do you belong? A pulling game between this beautiful place I was born and my new home across the sea. Some childhood places completely change and others remain untouched. But for how long? The places changed makes you feel like a guest with no further invitation. Who is that woman on the balcony where my mum used to call our name for dinner at 4pm? When did that wooden decking appear where I used to roll in the grass and run screaming of joy in ice cold water through the sprinklers? When do we become strangers in our own town? 

When he looks at you with utter joy every time you walk through the door.

When you sing the same song for the fifty seventh time and it’s still just as entertaining. And your lego tower is as impressive every time, before it is torn down with a joyful shriek.

When every little rock thrown into the water by the white painted boats is watched with an equal curiosity, and you both are just as engaged in taking in the ripples created wondering where they will end.

When you get to walk in the sand again as if it was your first time, and remember the freedom it once represented. And are reminded how nature has that way of leaving you with memories of its existence, every time you find a grain of sand the following weeks in your shoe.

When you’re someone’s hero, unconditionally, and that’s all that matters.