When I'm at the seaside in fall or winter, the thought that I'm looking at the very same sea that I swim in in summer never ceases to puzzle me. It looks so alive and then, with all people gone, it begins to speak of vast emptiness, as if everything underwater is hibernating too. Colder [...]
Upon arriving to the seaside last week after not having set foot there in quite a while, I realized Crikvenica is the only place in the world that I consciously associate with particular smells. Olfaction-wise I've gotten so oblivious to my surroundings that I have trouble naming even one smell reminiscent of Ljubljana, New York or any other city, but Crikvenica is much different.
Until I was 15, my family used to spend a couple of months a year at a house at the seaside. As the house has been my number one association to the word "childhood" since I've been introduced to the concept of nostalgia, I developed a strange relationship with it after we'd stopped visiting. When something that valuable for your inner life is (for the most part) taken away, you begin to question everything related to it in order to discover a definite, carved-in-stone truth ...