Home is a strange place. I have walked this pavement a zillion times. I have taken shelter in its cafés, shopped in its stores, played in its parks. I have cursed it over and over, as a teenager, frustrated, full of angst, for not being modern, for its own limits and my own pains. I have grown up, and down, surrounded by its brown, grim buildings.
I love this place like you learn to love a scar. It is a place that burns inside me when I leave, and welcomes me with warmth when I come back.