By someone who’s been around a bit and still wonders what happened to all the people who vanished quietly.
Lately, I’ve been feeling… well, nostalgic. And not in the soft-focus, violins-playing sort of way, but more like someone opened the floodgates in my brain and out came everything from school uniforms to the smell of my grandmother’s kitchen. Memories, left and right—some warm and fuzzy, others laced with good old-fashioned dread. Depends on which one decided to show up that day.
In the 1980s, I’ve grown up in a very simple household—none of this Instagrammable minimalism nonsense, just plain, functional furniture and a lot of love. My parents worked, so I spent most of my days with my grandmother. She was the type of woman who could whip up a five-course feast before you’d even finished your story about what happened at school. Coffee in one hand, ancient wisdom in the other. I still miss her like mad. There are times, in the quiet, I can still hear her call my name. No joke. And yes, she still visits in my dreams. Not as a ghost, not as a vision—just as herself, coffee and all.
Then there are the friends. Childhood to teenage years. A proper mixed bag of humans, some of whom I still talk to today. In fact, we’re not really “friends” anymore—we’re family. Been through too much together not to be. But then there are the ones who just… vanished. Not dramatically. No fireworks. Just gone. Stopped calling. Stopped replying. Like they got bored of Earth. I like to think they’re just off dealing with life stuff. Some existential detour. And when they come back—and they will—they’ll be welcomed right back into the fold. No questions asked. That’s how it works with family.
By the mid-90s, I’d finished college. Not that I remember most of it. Academic blur, really. But I made some friends there, the proper kind—the ones you’d ring at 2 a.m. in another time zone just to hear a familiar voice. After graduation, I went exploring. Three continents, several countries, endless cultures. And I loved it all. Even the bits that involved strange toilets and visa queues longer than the Nile. But coming home? That’s where things get complicated. Because yes, it’s great—familiar smells, familiar streets—but also… the absences. Family members I never got the chance to say goodbye to. Grandparents, cousins, uncles, aunts— people I assumed would always be there. I visited their graves. Said what I needed to say. My Stories. Told them where I’d been all these years, people I’d met, who I’d loved. Cried like a fool. Christmas and New Year’s were the hardest. Big, chaotic family gatherings turned slightly quieter. Echoes instead of laughter.
And of course, the working years. And with that, the grand parade of humanity. All shapes, sizes, colors, and accents. And here’s what I learned: once you shut up long enough to listen, everyone’s basically the same. We all want to be seen, understood, maybe even liked. Racism? That’s humanity’s dumbest invention—right up there with electric scooters in the rain. You’re given a chance to expand your mind, maybe even your heart, and instead you choose fear and hatred? Pathetic.
And work? Well, it’s not all smiles and potlucks. I’ve had bosses scream at me, colleagues threaten me, people stab me in the back with more enthusiasm than a cutlery set. But here’s the thing: none of them mattered. They were noise. Insecure, panicked, probably a bit broken. The good ones—the truly good ones—they stay with you. Even if you don’t speak anymore, you remember them. Because they made your life easier. And in this world, that’s gold.
Love. Oh boy. Where do we start? I’ve had my heart broken so many times I could rent it out as modern art. The whole “perfect relationship” thing? Utter fantasy. When I was little, I used to tell my mom I’d meet a girl from Idaho, marry her, and live happily ever after. Never happened. Never even met anyone from Idaho. For all I know, it’s just a potato farm with a name. So I gave up on fairytales. Until I didn’t. Three years ago, I fell in love. Just like that. Somewhere between the moon and New York City, as the song goes. And she’s still here. Still making the days better, warmer, funnier. So yes, fairytales. Sometimes, they sneak in when you least expect it.
These days, you’ll find me working from home. Most of my time is spent sitting in front of a screen, looking at plans, occasionally talking to people through a camera or the phone, and hanging out with my little dog. It’s not glamorous, but it’s peaceful. I like the walks. I like the space to think. I like having time to write. It’s not the perfect life, but honestly, I’m not sure that even exists. This one? It’ll do just fine.
Hope you find time today to listen to the quiet, to your memories, or maybe just to a little dog chasing squirrels across your lawn.
Thanks for dropping by my little corner of the world. If the story gave you a chuckle or made you pause and think, a like would be mighty kind. And if you’re feeling adventurous, well, hitting that subscribe button is like pulling up a chair and staying a while—always room for one more.
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A Kings 
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