Have you ever wondered what makes us feel good in a particular place? Why do we sometimes call a place ours? You know — we all have a coffee shop where we always invite our BFF so that exchange some gossips; a winery where we spend a date night, dressed in the lace top, with the red lipstick on the mouth and in the company of someone we’d rather be dressed only in this red lipstick; a bench in the park where we experienced first kisses, heard first promises and then cried because someone backtracked them on.
It’s very easy to like a cafe where we are always greeted with the scent of fresh-brewed drinks, a winery where familiar waiter fills our glass with the red wine with no asking or the bench on which we were sitting with the blushed cheeks and listening to his sweet nothings.
However, there are specific places where we might spend only a couple of hours and then just leave and never come back.
And what about the general places we live in? Cities. Big ones. Smaller ones. They are like Rubik’s cube — consist of a lot of different spots giving us a whole range of feelings and memories which are sometimes not easy to sort out.
All these emotions are like thin threads connecting us with the places around. It seems that everything works as the nervous system. We and the city are one organism. We can’t just go away. Even if we leave the place that we are strongly related to, we never will be able to leave the memories. They will hold us like the puppets, because we are not the brain in this organism. Ultimately, we don’t choose the place but the place chooses us.
The people we meet, the things that happen — we only may accept them, fit in, experience and enjoy all these colours. That’s when we can feel good somewhere. That’s when we can name the place ours.
I feel like that in Dublin.
This is my place.