The Place That Already Knew Me

It’s been more than twenty years since I last stood on the streets of Edinburgh, and yet it feels less like travel and more like a return.

There are places in the world that hold a rhythm you never forget. You can close your eyes and still hear them; the echo of footsteps on cobblestone, the low hum of conversation spilling out from a narrow close, the way the sky leans closer just before it rains.

Even after decades away, I can still feel that pulse beneath the surface. Edinburgh has always been that place for me; the one that felt like home the first time I saw it. I couldn’t explain why then, and I probably still can’t now. It wasn’t logic. It was recognition.

When I last visited, I was younger, hungrier for the world, chasing possibility without yet knowing what I was really searching for. The city met me exactly where I was. Now, as I prepare to return, I feel it calling me again…but this time, it’s meeting me where I’ve been.

That’s the thing about the places that know us: they don’t stay frozen in memory. They evolve with us. The streets are older. I’m older. But somehow, I suspect the same magic will be waiting - quietly, steadily - like an old friend who doesn’t need to ask for updates, only to see you walk back through the door.

In The Harbinger, place is never just backdrop. It’s alive; a keeper of memory and energy, a witness to change. Maybe that’s why returning to Edinburgh feels less like research and more like reverence.

This trip isn’t about retracing steps. It’s about reconnecting threads; between who I was, who I am, and who I’m still becoming.

And perhaps that’s what true homecoming really is: the moment when a place, a person, or a purpose reminds you that you were never really lost.