Visiting places where you have spent your entire childhood, can be quite dilemmatic, I have found.
Every step that I draw, plunges me into deeper chasms of nostalgia. You find your entire life flashing in front of you on fast-forward, with distinct nuances of joy and gloom.
I left this medina as a teenager.
I have returned as an adult; or the adult as defined by society. Whether I feel any older on the inside, I really do not know.
I have come back with a different agenda. I have come back treading on a somewhat different path. Yes, I am making this journey on my own once again, but this time, the stakes are a lot higher. Sort of like Captain Jack Sparrow returning for one final showdown. The kind you do not expect to come out of alive.
But, hang on a minute...
I have not ventured into foreign lands this time around; I have come back home. So, in theory, I should actually be feeling content and not wary of my surroundings.
Yet, I am exasperated. Yet, I am uncomfortable.
Familiar faces are welcoming me. Strangers are greeting me. Yet, there is a sense of isolation. Almost as if I am in a league of my own. Where I must eventually engage in combat alone. Without accomplices or aides.
And somehow I still need to hold my ground whenever not too distant memories tend to carry me far away in this frenetic tide, whilst simultaneously not losing sight of the ultimate goal.
I need to stay focussed. I need to believe.
And, of course, I need to be braver.
I am home, guys. But there is still plenty of work to be done...
One baby step at a time, then?