Italo Calvino said: The more enlightened our houses are, the more their walls ooze ghosts.
I clicked on the Inspire Me button again, and now all I can think about is how many different ghosts of myself I’ve left places, scattering them haphazardly in the halls of where I used to live. I have theories on ghosts that are more appropriate for a different day. I also have theories about ourselves, and what we leave behind. I’ve lived in a few different houses and every time I moved, somehow I changed into someone else. The little girl who lived in the sun-scorched hills of southern California was transformed entirely by the rain-drenched foggy graylands of the Northwest where she spent the rest of her life. The girl who moved out of our first house in the northwest left behind traces of all her awkward, ungaily innocence and became someone else that lived in the glitzy, oversized luxury apartments. That girl was someone full of dreams, but weetzie bat dreams with traces of darkness that were readily discarded when we moved into the comfortable house in the suburbs that we made our own with Tetris-painted garage doors.
I think of all the pieces of me living in those different places and I feel nostalgic. I know that I’ve been the same person throughout, but sometimes the changes feel so radical that my brain can’t reconcile memories of who I was with who I turned into. I recall memories from only a few years ago and wonder who that person was and where she went. It’s easier, simpler, to picture the moment of stepping away from those doors was the moment my body split in half. Half of me stays behind, haunting those walls with my memories while half of me goes on to figure out how the new will mold itself around my skin and change the person I am.