nostalgic pool

I was having a hard time concentrating at home, so I decided to visit an old friend called Liverpool. This suburb has a special place in my heart. I grew up here, so the feeling of belonging is natural and comfortable. Some would consider it a tacky town, but whenever I'm here, I feel 15 again. It's all familiar in a nostalgic and amusing way because everything reminds me of something else. I love it like a sister loves her daggy brother whom she doesn't want to be seen in public with.

I browsed the town and drove past my high school. I strolled around the plaza, smiling at all the shops that my best friend and I used to visit. I skipped past the bus stop where I had my first kiss. I remember being scolded by the same mean bus driver at least once a week for missing the 843 school bus and using my school bus pass after hours.

My next stop was the Liverpool City Library, which holds many fond memories. During my primary school years, the library was my fortress of solitude and a humble home for the bookworm that I once was. In high school, the library was a convenient canopy for the social butterfly that I had become. Whatever reason I had to be in that building, it was always a great experience.

When I stepped into the library today, my heart skipped a beat and my cheeks ached from grinning. The library still has the same effect on me; the warmth (mostly because the air conditioning is always at the perfect temperature) and security (no bad people here) is what brings me back. The librarians are the most helpful people known to man, eager and happy to assist with any inquiry. I don't think I've ever met a grumpy librarian. The library now has a café in the foyer and free wireless internet access, so my laptop happily connects with its new friend. Kids are so privileged these days—back when I was in school, I had to line up to use the communal computer for 15 minutes.

I chose a window seat that faced the park to help me get into study mode. Maybe it was a bad idea, because I'm just gazing into my past instead of writing my essay. From where I am sitting, I can spot the tree that I used to nap under when I skipped classes. It's ironic how I hated school, yet I am back at UNSW to study Secondary Education. The difference is, I am learning to teach, not learning to learn.