The night before

suitcase

One night before & my room is in perfect order…except my suitcase which is too full & spilling all over the place. My packing is not a virtue. Plus more pressing matters occupy the spaces of my mind.

I must gather the corners of myself together, to tuck them in safely. Because I tend to drop pieces of myself in strange places; in plane seats & strangers’ eyes, in small little cafes with crystals hanging in the door & in back seats of yellow cabs. I leave my heart in unlikely places. This worries me as much as it excites me. Being a woman of the world is a grave responsibility. One that I sometimes want to shove right at the back of my clothes drawer & shut it before I can think twice.

I was born with two feet & one heart. Like most people. But my heart felt like something I needed to give away – like it was never mine to keep. & so it was always wandering in lush green places of the world & in dried out deserts & valleys in equal measures.

I would cradle the world atlas in my tiny arms as I went to bed, close to my heart, feeling its rhythm bring every line & contour on the pages vividly alive. I would close my eyes to dreams of countries unknown & unpronounce-able on my tongue. I knew the world was my oyster, my playground, my home. & the people of the world, my heritage. The truth of it moved in my blood.

I feel connected to the land. to its spirit. No matter where I go – my first love affair is with the land – place and all that encompasses its surface – its joys, sorrows, triumphs & woes. Sometimes the connection is hard & slow. & other times, it’s like magic. Hands clasping, fingers intertwined kind of thing.

Unlike the land, the people of the world are not always kind. They misunderstand my restless roots that naturally want to intertwine with theirs. They say, “how can this be?” I have had to do much explaining. & I tire of explaining – I just want to love you like there is no tomorrow. What is wrong with that?

It’s a job of mine to be homeless – to be at home everywhere and nowhere. & from this bizarre place teach what it means to be properly human. The world is not really my home. I traverse its surface following its heart beat & song from one end of its axis to the other. & this is why I am a woman of it – a woman of the world. Not because I live in it but because I understand it & carry its raw essence within me. Nothing special, just heavy & beautiful.

So as I get onto that plane tomorrow, I know my job never sleeps. There is no off duty for the likes of me. For love & connection is always needed. And I, woman of the world am on a mission to tie the ends of the world together in a big, beautiful bow; to offer it back to the only One who can make it whole again.

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