Bubbles bring nostalgia. They are a childhood fascination. Are they not wonderful, these perfect shapes? Floating in the air. Reflecting a million colours. So versatile and wondrous. They have infinite facets. We chase them. They float away. Some go far up and disappear, others are in reach. We stretch our arm and open hand to greet them. Pop! It is gone. Yet, it was so close. We can catch the next one, for sure. We never do. If anything we are left with a feeling of humidity in our hand.


If bubbles provide nostalgia they also are a metaphor for it. We see something that reminds us of an instant of our past. We blow it way or we embrace it. We get in the bubble of our past. We have a spherical view on a moment, we see it through a filter of soap and water. It seems real but it is a product of memory and imagination. The past is always amplified. While we rest in our bubble admiring the past we are lost in the present. Until someone or something reaches out to us. The bubble pops and we are left with a strange feeling as we slowly adapt back to reality. The feeling of nostalgia is wonderful, it takes us back. Back to memorable times and back out of the picture. Sparing us with instants of floatation.


Bubbles are both safe and vulnerable. Isolated from the rest we feel no threat in the comfort of our best memories. Nevertheless, barely anything can pop it, making us, quite suddenly, more exposed. It is because suddenly we see bubbles as the sole combination of soap, water, and air. We lose the sense of wonder we have as children. Our ability to see the bubbles as marvellous and magical spheres defying gravity has popped. This results in a lower appreciation of our own lives. We do not appreciate the magic small things like bubbles contain. We bring everything down to what the are physically, with no space for wonder. Remember to sometimes let yourself be, and admire the magic behind every little thing.