It was August of 1996 when my wandering started. Back then, it was my choosing not to call home what has been, and will always be, a home for me, my parents' family. While my thought at the time was: I'm leaving to pursuit my studies, God, through time, showed me the wandering was to find my home, my family and myself.
Home, my home, is the wrinkled hands and face of my mother while happily cooking breakfast or praying the rosary. The fat round belly of my old aunt and her trembling Parkinson hands. My best friend struggle with death in the family and economical problems while keeping a good and healthy laugh. My good friend's fight against hypoglycemia while keeping a great faith. My cousin's heart-taking pictures of the world above the clouds. The one whole night of domino with the friends and acquaintances discussing from philosophy to a great set of legs. The short stories, poems and theater plays from my beloved adopted brothers and little wandering cousin. My best friend's struggle with life, love and legacy without surrendering. The smell of smoke and coffee from the adopted family house in Mexico City. The hardships of hunger while traveling with el primo. Those talks about physics and bullshit with my genius German brother. The joy of leisure traveling with my cheerful Slovak brother. Drinking and complaining with my Finnish brother. The sound of waterfalls shared with two wonderful girls. The smiles of the most awesome couple of Slovak mother and daughter. The love of the most wonderful girl ever.
It still sickens me not to know where I will be living and working the next year, or if I will be there for more than 2 years; not to know when is it that I will share time again with all my beautiful cousinettes, by blood or love. But then, I have found my family, my home, my self.
Truth be told, sometimes it is hard to feel secluded, lonely. It has been my choosing. One way or another, I have chosen this path. And, one way or another, there's always been someone sharing it. That's home for me.
There might be no one physically close to you, but if all we need were physical this world would've been a happy perfect place for ages.
My love and respect to my little wandering cousin, the weaver of life stories.
It still sickens me not to know where I will be living and working the next year, or if I will be there for more than 2 years; not to know when is it that I will share time again with all my beautiful cousinettes, by blood or love. But then, I have found my family, my home, my self.
Truth be told, sometimes it is hard to feel secluded, lonely. It has been my choosing. One way or another, I have chosen this path. And, one way or another, there's always been someone sharing it. That's home for me.
There might be no one physically close to you, but if all we need were physical this world would've been a happy perfect place for ages.
My love and respect to my little wandering cousin, the weaver of life stories.
:D you just made me smile.
ReplyDelete