Pseudo Nomadism

And feeling like a tourist in your own past.

Like most of us, namely my Millennial peers, I'm a pretty nostalgic guy, I know more cartoon theme songs by heart than formulas and concepts that I need for my studies. On top of this, erhmm, personality trait, I have become some sort of modern day nomad, I was fortunate enough to live in several countries throughout my "short" twentysomething life. If you put these two concepts together you have a somewhat interesting mix, and the super power to tear up when I return to my hometown, or when I eat local pastries, or when I ... this list would have gone forever so I decided to keep it rather short.

But this year, I felt different coming back home, somehow apathetic, well I still teared up when on an early morning I've climbed a hill that overlooks Lisbon, I still got emotional when I saw my friends ... but for the first time I felt somehow bittersweet about all of this...for the first time I felt like a tourist, there was no family home to come back to, there was no space for unscheduled days, there was no familiarity with the day to day of my friends...there was ... tourism...visiting cool places, reliving memories, but all felt very temporary, all felt very ... distant.

Granted that this was the biggest time I've spent away, but everything changed so much...don't get me wrong that is awesome, but then again... this isn't my home anymore, and while I'm typing this I'm already making a checklist, to figure if I'm not leaving anything behind, and the fact that I can't leave anything behind is filling me with a bit of sadness. A trip back home is the kind of trip where you can forget things, is the kind of trip we're leaving your favourite pair of sunglasses on the kitchen counter makes little difference.

But more than this was feeling a stranger with friends, when we met we reminisce, we didn't create new memories, well not like before, it felt rushed, it felt weird. I began to make sense of how my parents could have friends that they haven't seen in years, something that was somehow inconceivable before I left...shit I'm getting old.

The thing that made more uncomfortable was the fact that those time are gone -surely new, and probably better ones will appear soon- those time became like the theme song of those cartoons I watched religiously gulping down cereal all those years ago. But as curious and weird as life is, this uncomfortableness is also uber pleasant, and it charged me up and it fueled me. You see I left Lisbon and Portugal, not by chance, but because I wanted more, I couldn't let myself get stale, and in my core, I know and feel that but my nostalgic side sometimes makes me a prisoner of myself, you see I'm my own worse enemy [cliche dramatic statment].

But not even all of this whining, all of this crying changes the fact that no place is as cosy as Lisbon, and nothing makes me smile genuinely as eating a fresh Pastel de Belem (local treat) with a friend catching up and reminiscing.

PS:. To every reader older than me...please don't feel offended when I say stuff like I'm getting old or that I feel old.

Tomás Brandão
Tomás Brandão

Jack of all trades, but master of none, Communications student, and freelance writer. Trying to change the world by starting to change myself.

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Pseudo Nomadism