I’d never been here before. But, in a way, I was reunited with the family I never knew, and I felt like I was reliving memories of a non-existent childhood.
I arrived with a nostalgic longing which, according to the philosophers, is the longing for things not lived. And I left with a feeling of pity desperate to return.
Whenever I pass the side of the road, where there is a sign with the name “cercal” on it, I get the same feeling in my stomach that I used to get whenever I went on a school trip and the bus passed my front door.
It’s incomprehensible. It doesn’t even make much sense. But didn’t they once tell me that if it makes sense, it makes sense?
