“We try (in vain) to revisit the places of childhood, old workplaces, places where we felt happy or favorite haunts but find that change has tainted the physical reality irrevocably. I find that these trysts with time give me value only when I realise that the physical place acts as a key to unlock a depth of memories that I had thought long forgotten but that I possessed all along. The place is not a warden of the memories or strictly necessary to induce them – it’s simply very, very effective at prompting them.

Indeed, the sad realisation that I could never again stand in a particular forest glade in Sydney when the light hit it a certain way through a gap in the trees, dappling everything beautifully and making the white flowers everywhere luminesce simply made me treasure that moment in my mind all the more. That memory is of a time when skipping was still a reasonable mode of locomotion and adults were considered tall. The trees have likely grown since, the place may even have a building on it. My memory, however, is beautiful, pristine, unique – and what’s more, it’s mine and mine only.”

– Monica White