Turn around

I think it was about a year ago today that I arrived in Spain. In some aspects, i can't believe it's been a year. Memories of climbing sandy terrain barefoot, trecking through what at the time seemed miles of endless desert in search of the beloved mediterrainian, crawling through cobblestone streets alongside an israeli boy with bells around his ankles and a pocket full of overripe cherries, armed with a few euros and a bottle of cheap spanish wine still blissfully plague me every time I close my eyes, as if the images are burned beneath my eyelids and every time I attempt to sleep, I am haunted by days past in which I was younger, happier and more innocent. And when i am not paying attention, the rough protective wall of the alhambra appears on my fingertips and the song of the romani gypsies in my head: I wake up singing words I don't understand.
In other aspects, I've grown so much since then, the lessons learned also following me throughout my daily life- constant reminders in every step that I am not who I once was, and who I will become can only be determined by a flip of a coin. Echoes of situations, like watching a shadow puppet play of a true event.
If you only knew. Or rather, if I only knew. Once I decipher what happened, I'll let you know.
What does it mean to be haunted by ones own past? I wonder if I will ever be able to live my present the way I live my memories, creating each single moment as a priceless object to be cherished and treasured. To replay images over and over again like old-fashioned family videotapes projected on flowing white screens and popcorn and to snuggle up against eachother and say "wow that's not how I remembered it to be, but that must be the way it always was." I wonder if we can really live like that. I'd like to try living that way, even just for a moment.