Dear mother/sister/friend/lover,
I hope you are doing well in the land I once called home.
Me? I’ve been taking long walks on cloudy days when the sun barely shows itself
barely warms my soul as I wear my shiny waterproof fall coat and crunch across the yellow and red sidewalk between a temporary office and a temporary home
glad for a wind that lifts my hair without dampening it
glad for safe and empty streets
glad for the cold that catches hold of my fingers and refuses to leave my heart for days.
Is this what they call saudade? Loneliness nostalgia and homesickness mixed into one trendy word to describe the conflict always brewing inside?
Is it displacement? culture shock? the immigrant experience? This need to hold on to something, anything, from past, from history, from legacy
even though I know that I am past, history, legacy, that I just need to hold on to me.
These are the thoughts I think during increasingly familiar long walks to increasingly familiar places, listening to music in languages that sound increasingly unfamiliar every day
telling myself it’s okay
that I absolutely love taking long walks on cloudy days.