where I am alone
I remember being 16 years old, in Venice, watching lovers ride gondolas through the canals at sunset. I thought to myself, “I am never coming back to Italy single again!” There are just those beautiful places, those picturesque scenes, that are meant to be made into romantic moments.
Here is one of them:
On the other hand, I’d rather be lonely here than in any other place in the world. And here is my own backyard, a precious baby sleeping peacefully inside, my mom and grandmother close by. My daughter’s garden in bloom behind me. The wind rustling the leaves of trees, the lapping of gentle waves, the song of birds, crickets, and frogs. My ancestors whispering to my heart. Even my sadness, my heaviness, and my unfulfilled longings seem to belong here, to fit neatly somehow into the space surrounding me.
Only here am I home. Gratitude for what I do have is asked to fill my spirit, loneliness turned into an openness of the heart for what’s to come.