Hometown Glory

Everywhere we go, we leave a little piece of our hearts. Every time we have one of those pivotal moments where we are forced to just stop and take it all in—the good, the bad, and the ugly—we leave a little bit of us behind. It’s why when we see someone from our past, our heart stops for just a moment. That little piece of you that you left with them is reunited for just a moment. And your mind is brought back to that image you had once forgotten. When you go back to a place that holds so many memories and moments, you are faced with this onslaught of emotions and feelings that have been trapped in the location of your heart.

This happened to me recently. One night when I was home for break, I decided to hop the fence to my old high school. I don’t know why I did it—I went alone and didn't have a reason to go. It was dark and there was nobody there, but as I paced the walkways of my past, it was like I was instantly brought back to an old version of myself that has been lost over the years. I walked along the track and knelt down to feel the grainy roughness of the astro-turf field. The touch of the rubber pebbles brought my mind back to the years of marching band spent on that field. As I looked up, my memories of hot, after school rehearsals were brought back to the front of my mind. I moved on and walked up the ramp towards the main quod of the school. As I passed the pool, I smelled the familiar stench of chlorine intertwined with pot and cigarette smoke. I closed my eyes and as I breathed in this mixture of scents, the late nights of water polo trickled back to memory. The laughter of my team; the blood from injury; the tears from defeat—it was all there. Almost overcome, I continued walking and scene after scene came to mind. High school wasn't this pleasant experience that I was dying to relive. But that night, I needed to get a piece of my soul back; I needed to feel a little more whole. I needed to reminisce in the loss of my sanity. I needed to feel like the “me” that existed that lifetime ago was still here, buried under the mounds of snow and layers of ice that now encase my heart. Because it was there that I started to realize who I was, where I was going, and what I wanted from my life. The dreams that have begun to fade and disintegrate were all born in that old La Crescenta school. I spent so many days trying to mend the broken lines and cracked pieces of my soul. I spent countless classes rebuilding myself and fixing the chinks in my armor. It was here that I learned to pick myself back up. It was here that I developed the strength I needed to survive. I might not remember the lessons I was supposed to learn. I might not remember the formulas, grammar, or dates that were drilled into my mind. But, I do remember those magical moments—the ones that shape you, the ones that change you. I can find arithmetic and poems anywhere I go, but the pieces of my heart that I have lost—those can only be found in one place.

Round my hometown, memories are fresh. The scent; the touch; the people—they hold the pieces of your past. They are where you can breathe more easily and feel more whole. They are a part of you.