A few weeks ago I went to Amsterdam to meet a friend. As the lockdown is over, I’m slowly restarting my social life. Before meeting my friend in Westerpark for a picnic, I took a walk through the area where I lived for most of my years in Amsterdam: the Haarlemmerdijk — Prinseneiland — Westerpark area. I wasn’t happy with the fact that the streets were very busy, but I was happy to see them again and my walk was filled with nostalgia. The place where I used to eat my lunch, where I would meet friends for coffee, even a visit to the Marqt supermarket was nostalgic, since there is no Marqt in Alkmaar, where I live now. The lockdown kept me away from Amsterdam a few months, and I can’t complain, I’ve been in the best place I could have been during this time, but I missed “my” streets and places from my former city.

As the evening came and I went back to Alkmaar, feeling bit dizzy from the sun and margaritas I had in the park, I was wondering if there’s some regret in my feeling of nostalgia. But when I walked out of the train station in Alkmaar, inhaled the clean air, heard the seagulls and the silence on the streets, I had my answer, and there was no trace of regret there. And now that I can visit Amsterdam again, whenever I want (well, almost), I’m sure my escapades won’t be filled with nostalgia anymore.

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