What Really Ties Us to a Place: Memories, Not Locations

What ties us to a place in reality? I could say a “network,” but I don’t mean that kind of connection. I mean an emotional bond, the kind you feel, for example, when after a long and exhausting journey you finally get home, next to your loved ones.

But what are we actually tied to? Why do we feel this sense of belonging? A place? The people we love? That’s what I’m trying to figure out — and I think I’ve managed to, or at least that’s what I believe at this moment.

I spent my childhood, and until I moved out to “my own place,” in a neighborhood on the outskirts. I have many memories from there, both good and not so good, but all of them are part of different stages of my life. Recently, my parents moved closer to me and my new family, leaving behind the house of my childhood.

I’ve often been asked: “Won’t you miss that house, the place where you grew up?”
I kept thinking about it, and my answer was uncertain. Sometimes yes, sometimes no.

Sometimes I felt a sense of nostalgia. I wasn’t sure what it was or what caused it. It wasn’t directly related to childhood — I tried to associate that nostalgia with my early years, with friends, but nothing really seemed to connect… until one day.

In my teenage years and early adult life, I had a dog, Axel. A mixed malamute and husky. He was my first pet. In reality, he was much more than that: an important part of my growing-up process.

After I left home, he stayed with my mother, almost like a second son. One who would remain a child forever.
Two years ago, he passed away. He wasn’t very old; unfortunately, he was sick… His death left a void in all of our hearts. We lost a family member.

Next to the block where we lived there was a large park where we used to go for walks. Well, “walks” is an understatement — when you have a husky, it’s more like a fast-paced run.

One day, I was passing through the neighborhood and walked by the park. Looking at the place where I used to go every day with Axel, I felt a deep sense of sadness and nostalgia. I had never felt this before when thinking about the place, the apartment, the building, or the friends who stayed or left. The building itself didn’t trigger any feelings — it was just a communist-era block like any other.

That’s when I realized that my attachment wasn’t to a place, but to a memory.

The memory of a lost friend.

I miss him — we all do. But he left us something very precious: memories, which we will always carry with us. See you beyond, Paxi!

Every time I pass through the neighborhood, I look toward the park, and much more rarely toward the window of the old apartment.

I realized that my memories are not tied to places, but to the moments lived there.