Memories of our childhood home assault our senses. We are flooded with a torrent of sights and sounds that occurred when our brains were exploding and our bodies were still in ascent. These houses are the physical manifestations of the foundation of our lives. They act as mental time machines, instantly transporting us through the multiverse.​

 

Nostalgia is what we call the memories we like. We dapple the edges of nostalgic memories, and like old polaroids fading in the sun, we are left with an incomplete portrait. But nostalgic memories rely on our judgment of what feels good to remember.​

 

The places of our upbringing give no quarter to such judgment. Our memories here are raw and unvarnished. Good, bad, or indifferent - the things that happened under those roofs have made you the human you are every bit as much as biology did. The love and the trauma, the darkness and the light, the pain and the healing are all informing you today, and those experiences are carried within this vessel we call home.​

 

As a part of my work, I encounter adult children tasked with unraveling their parents' estate. They must dismantle these mini museums of memories - giving things away, throwing away others. I witness the rush of emotions that overtakes their faces revealing a kaleidoscope of feelings. Each object they touch, every room they enter, evokes a tapestry of stories—the milestones of first steps and words, the innocence captured in youthful eyes. Some stories bear the weight of bittersweetness, but I hope they are more sweet than bitter.​

 

- Ante Perkov, Founder & Broker Realion Real Estate