You should be there, kissing the sun. You should be inhaling spices, swallowing conversations spilling from walls, each crusted brick with its own tale to tell, inviting you into its embrace. As you sit across from oval shaped windows, your mum across from you asks you to try the best chicken rice you’ve ever had. There’s something completely ironic about this place I know as home. It’s different every time I go back, but there’s also something inviting and so familiar about it. It’s all that’s known. It’s my childhood in my grandmothers brown/black painted rooms. It’s the rain splashing and sticking to cement. It’s us meeting under the block for service dates. Walking through flights of stairs to talk to someone, sweat dripping down my forehead. It’s the most anxious and bustling place, but also where my anxiety goes to sleep. Plays on ice and turquoise coloured tech rooms, sea worlds below nurseries, junctions and hearts of stressed gold. Hearts of resilience. Hearts of reality. Maybe, I do need to go back and find it again. Laced in the linings of this music is my home – another living childhood, another innocence.

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