My name is Padre Gautuma and I moved around a lot in my life before I settled in

Belfast about 20 years ago.

I never thought it'd be a nostalgic person, but strangely enough when I moved around a

lot I did become nostalgic.

Nostalgia comes from Greek, nostrils return home and algos pain.

And nostalgia therefore is a certain pain about home that you carry when you're away.

It can come with great romanticism.

You can look back on the home that you were happy to leave with this deep sense of, oh

my god, think about how beautiful it was.

And that romanticism has a function to tie it to somewhere, to remind you that you can

look at things from new points of view and to hold you together in terms of the story

of your life through its places.

Being the island by David White, Inesh Bafan.

It must have been the slant of the light, the sheer cross-screen of rain against the

summer sun, the way the island appeared gifted out of the gleam and the depth of distance

so that when you turned to look again, the send of the sea had carried you on under the

headland and into the waiting harbor.

And after the pilgrim lanes and the ruined chapel, the lads singing beneath the window

and the corn creak calling from a corner of a field, after the gold cries and the sea

hush at the back of the island, it was the way standing still or looking out, walking

or even talking with others in the evening bar, holding your drink and laughing with the

rest that you realised.

...