Monthly News & Opinions with Caro
The romanticising of a home, the reality of which gets blurrier as time goes by. An idealistic vision takes over memories bit by bit. Holes in the fragments of remembrance, like when a caterpillar eats away at a leaf. It’s a pest eating away at my memories, leaving behind a disfigured, selective reminiscence. It is this selectiveness which leads me, like many others, into the stray path of romanticising what no longer exists, and describing my grandmother cooking as a spiritual experience.
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