Here in Miami, I feel a strong sense of home. Just like Van Gogh, I’m conditioned to a frenetic search for love and homeliness.
The people here smile at me, dance with me. The sun shines on me and blankets me with warmth. The birds here glide in circles above, then they sing to me. Joining the birds are the rustling trees, the whistling wind and the babbling water. It’s an unmatched choir.
When I sit by the bay, a family of wild Manatees greets me. The dogs have love in their eyes. The lizards and cats patiently, beautifully pose for me. They let me capture them with all my senses.
Our communities are digitized for the most part. As for me, the only reality I have ever lived in is within these individualistic communities which create and exacerbate loneliness.
Today, so many of us are desperate for love because we expect it to rescue us from intolerable emptiness.
I barely like anyone, because people hardly understand me. So I express myself to the unknown.
My most favourite part about visiting the sea is the eagerly inviting pull of its waves while I stand on the edge of the salty water.
The cold wave always engulfs my feet and pulls me strong when it retreats as if it wants me whole.
Then my feet tickle when the sand anchors them like it knows where I belong.
I feel gratitude for the protection, I feel comfort on land. But, what if I was meant to be a mermaid?
Growing up, I’d wondered countless times about the answer to a significant question- Who was I?
We’re products of stories. Stories which we’ve been told since the beginning of our own time on earth. We live life staunchly believing in them and even everything they tell us about ourselves. When they’d call me a shy girl, I accepted it as part of my demeanour. When they’d call me stupid, I believed I just mustn’t have been born with what it takes.
They answered my significant question for me.
Today, perhaps a little too late or, maybe its never too late, I had an epiphany. I miraculously realized I never needed to know from anyone else of what I was capable. The instant I learnt how to speak and comprehend, I gained the ability to tell my own story, to dictate my own life.
If I write the story of my life and I say I am a confident, enthusiastic, smart, loving, courageous, beautiful, brilliant woman; then heck, that is who I am!
Nobody can tell me otherwise.
What if I was always happy? What if I liked everyone? Loved unconditionally? Was always nice? What if I forgave everyone? Hated nobody?
I think I’d be an easier person to be around.
But I’m not.