Solitude

Where is the beauty of solitude

That the hermits talk about?

The virginal maiden of the hills

With her perfumed hair 

And light gait

Her charming smile

With a song on her lips.

Solitude for me 

Is a grotesque sea creature-

With bloody fangs

And sagging skin

Body covered in blisters and pus

Groaning a dying cry

Haunting me for life.

I keep wishing to learn to love her,

But she scares me.

I keep trying to fill the room 

Between her and me 

With people who do not care about me.

What is my fear?

That I will learn a little more

about myself in her company 

And not like what I discover?

About me

Nature has helped me heal in ways that I didn’t imagine I could. Growing plants from seeds in my vegetable patch has been one of the most satisfying experiences of my life. It was a way of reconnecting with nature after having lived in concrete jungles for years.

Those who know me know well that I cannot do anything without putting my whole heart into it. Most times, taking it to borderline obsession. In many phases of life, I was fortunate to find something that comforted me- whether it was a person, a hobby or the words of an accomplished writer. Things that are going to stay with me forever. Things that the world can’t take from me. And that is the essence of who I am. 

Where is my home?

I was discussing with my friend if adapting to the country you live in is bad. Why should it be?

If you are enamored with a place so much that you will accept poor quality of living just to be in it, then you are making a mistake in my humble opinion. But you can be successful in any part of the world. Boundaries are man-made constraints. Even race is a social construct, a weak proxy for genetic diversity.

Then where is my home? Who are my people?
Home is where you feel welcomed and valued. Sometimes, it can be thousands of miles away from the place you were born in. And my people are those who cheer for me, who motivate me to do better, who help me evolve. My home is right here, in my present.