The Place That Keeps Calling Me Back!

I first visited Glasgow Necropolis, was in October. Chasing the glimpse of Aurora Borealis, I ticked off one item on my bucket list. It wasn’t the grand trip to Iceland or Norway, but here, on a cold, windy night - at the hilltop of Glasgow. The sky turned dramatic - waves of red and green danced across, and for a moment, it felt like magic. I stood there, awestruck, eyes breaming with tears. But what I didn’t expect was how the place itself — not just the sky — would leave such a mark on me.

The place is 10min away from where I live. And honestly, it helps! But that’s not the only reason I keep going back. I’ve been there with frozen fingers, red nose in winter; seen the place sprinkled with flowers like confetti in spring, and walked through the sketchy vibes of fall. I’ve stood there under the twinkle of the stars, city lights and dusky skies. Every time I go back, it’s always the same stone paths and gravestones - and yet it feels different. Necropolis never rushes you - it simply meets you halfway - between your own chaos and calm, letting you catch a breather. 

I’ve never gone there when I am happy.

And maybe that’s the point.

It’s never a casual stroll, there’s something tugging at me - a feeling I’m not sure I have quiet named it yet. It’s always the in-betweens! The quiet frustrations. The kind of loneliness that isn’t loud but lingers. On days when everything feels too much. When I’m stuck in my room for too long. When I need a walk without a destination in my mind! I’ve gone when I seek something - maybe clarity, maybe comfort. Sometimes, I go to just look at the sky, the infinite blob that hold all the answers we’ll never understand. It’s become a place that I never plan, but always end up in. Like it’s waiting - gently, quietly - in a whisper, calling me when I need it the most. 

It’s a bit weird calling a graveyard beautiful - but it’s just that. Beautiful! Wrapped with layers of quiet history, the architecture, the gentle path of green in between the stones, it’s not haunted. It’s not eerie. It’s just still. There’s something calming about being surrounded by unheard memories, as if the place is at peace with it. It’s a place that doesn’t ask anything in return. You don’t have to smile, make sense, or speak. You can just be there being you. And for someone who often struggles to speak what they’re feeling, this place is sacred.

Talking about the city from up there, it looks different. Smaller. Calmer. Kinder. Softer. Whether it’s under a thick blanket of winter or the yellowy shadow of the summer, it always feel like I’m watching it by being on the edge - not outside of it, but not quite within it either. Streetlights flicker like lazy fireflies. The skyline unwraps itself into a dusky orange. In spring, flowers bloom beside the headstones, like old friends returning, offering a silent shoulder. In winter, the bare branches feel like sketches of stillness, an essence of life still being there. The graves sit unmoving, and yet somehow it feels the most alive - like it’s listening, watching, helping you grow. 

It’s not scary. It’s grounding.

When I walk through these paths, I find myself reading a few names. Some are clear and bold; others faded, as if erased by time. I always wonder - what stories each hold? Is it known? Or just buried quietly? Were they loved? Did they get what they were looking for? Some tombs are grand while others are small, so is legacy measured in marbles or memories? Are some stories told upon family dinners, or are they left like unopened letters? But that’s the strange comfort - we will never know. And yet, here they are. Lying under the same sky, resting together, in a place that is quite still but is not also. Maybe it’s the reminder that every name once had a pulse behind it. A smile. A laugh. A dream. A love. A heartbreak. A moment like mine, looking up to the sky for answers to questions we don’t even know.

I feel like Necropolis hold all the emotions, we always push down. The hopes we’re scared to say out loud. The dreams we’re scared to dream. The griefs we don’t even know what they are. It just allows us to unwind those emotions, silently.

It doesn’t rush you to get over with it. 

It doesn’t ask you to figure out everything at once. 

It just holds you there. 

There is no shame in carrying emotions that aren’t bright. It’s okay to feel lost, confused, restless - or nothing at all. Some days can be just that - a day. There is no shame in pausing. Because the world will still be there, the people who love you won’t go, the dreams you planted will still bloom. But what might disappear is you, if you don’t allow yourself to be in the moment. 

Take the walk. Take the risk you always thought was wrong. Stand on a hill top and look out at the city. Let the emotions be there with you. Not as a burden, but as your ally. And when you’re ready, return - not rushed, not fixed, not having all the answers, but steady. Softened. A little more than usual. 

Glasgow Necropolis is a place of the dead, yes - but strangely, it alive. The birds sing. The flowers bloom. It’s alive when a couple walks, talking about their future like they’ve all the time in the world. It’s alive when someone walk their dogs, letting them sniff around the secrets. It’s alive when two friends climb up the hill, unwind, and share a laugh. It’s alive when someone cycles along the path to catch the last glimpse of sun. It’s the most alive in these little moments, it lives - not loudly but in a strange quietly manner.