Tara.

It’s been a long week of Zeath problems and days worth of Christmas countdowns.

When my car slowly arrives at my destination, I look at the worn-out black gate that is crying for repair before gazing up behind it at the aged three story building.

This is where I grew up. The memories it carried has faded a bit but there’s still the nostalgia. A nostalgia of all the times when things were still good; when politics hadn’t gulped down my family’s values.

We lived before my ...