But always that image of my home remained in my mind, called out to me in my dreams. The picture of Jacaranda blossoms floating down onto the car as we drove on our way from church, of the fountain at Centenary Park shooting jets of water into the air as if daring the heavens with a display of their majesty. The sound of laughter with my friends as we wandered aimlessly through town on the weekend. Images of a past gone by, morning memories of forgotten dreams. Memories that I try to search for as the bus arrives in the City of Kings from Johannesburg. It’s been sixteen hours and not for the first time, I wish I could have afforded the money to fly all the way. But such is life; regret is for those who have the luxury of living in the past.