Places remember us through the versions of ourselves we associate with them.

A place keeps a version of you preserved in it, and returning summons that version rather than the current one. That is why old streets can produce a sharp and disorienting feeling, part fondness and part something heavier. The place is not remembering you, it is presenting who you were the last time you were fully there.

When a familiar place stirs something strong, notice which version of you turned up. Ask what they wanted. It is often information you would not have reached from where you now live.