I opened a group called Quito in Flickr a few months ago. It’s just now that I’ve taken some time to browse at all the pictures people have posted and I have bitter sweet feelings about it. On one side, I love to see that placed lovingly portrayed by people who live or have spent some time in Quito, but on the other side it pains me that I no longer recognize around 90% of the places where those pictures were taken. It sucks living in a place for 18 years, then move out, then look at pictures and see it all so changed and distant that makes me wonder whether or not I ever really lived there.
Meanwhile, all the rest, all the family, all the friends, all the childhood memories and teenage adventures are completely framed by Quito. But it almost feels as if the city was like an artificial stage that I built only in my mind and that, like dreams, faded in an instant of light; almost the same thing that happens with my time in London.
I love moving around, living in new places, getting to know people, having all these experiences that otherwise I wouldn’t have, but I hate not having any roots anywhere. It’s almost as if none of the places I’ve lived in have that little something that states that once I was there.
Damn lightness of being.