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The move

It was a relatively long time ago but I’ve always wanted to write about it.

My parents and I were living in this old apartment. It wasn’t particularly good, for example my room’s window looked out onto the street that had gotten quite busy lately, to the point where it was becoming uncomfortable. I started waking up because of the noise of the vehicles passing right in front of my window. I ended up getting a new plastic window. It cut down on the noise somewhat but still whenever a large truck would craw past, it felt like a minor earthquake.

One day these real estate agents turned up on our doorstep and said they had a guy who wanted to buy our apartment and converted it into a shop of some sort. My mom was against it but my dad and I were all for it. That guy then disappeared but the real estate guys hung around, the whole thing went on for almost two years and eventually they did find this other guy who bought our apartment and they also found us a different place.

Anyway the point is that for over a year we knew we would eventually move out of that old place and I remember how, whenever I’d be coming back to that old apartment I would imagine that we’d already moved and that I was only going back there because I’d forgotten we’d moved. It was just this weird game I played, because I thought I’d feel nostalgic about it. The thing is, though, that after we moved I never really felt particularly nostalgic about that old apartment until very recently when I had a dream about it, but again it wasn’t nostalgia for the apartment but rather for an earlier, somewhat happier time in my life when I was younger and more carefree.

Life is weird that way.

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