One Apple A Day #86
We landed in Italy only three days ago. To be precise, in the north east of Italy, the area where I spent the first 37 years of my life. Somehow, I’m back home, but I’m an alien.
I walk around in my hometown, and I feel like I’m a newly arrived immigrant. I know, I’ve been away for five years and I’ve been back only for three days. It will take some time to reconnect with these places. But it’s weird because I used to talk about this area as “my places” when I was abroad, and now I struggle to call them “mine”. It makes me wonder if I still belong somewhere. Where is my home?
I love this land. The water of the Piave, the local river, flows in my veins. My family and my best friends live here. In this land, I planted and grew my roots. But my soul craves the world. It’s like a virus or addiction. Five years ago, when we left for London, I thought I was going out into the world. Now I understand that in doing that I let the world to come in.
“We find after years of struggle that we do not take a trip; a trip takes us.” — John Steinbeck
Now I understand why I felt this quote so compelling. The world took my soul. It stretched my mind and filled my heart.
I realise now that I belong nowhere and everywhere at the same time. My home is where I am, in my wholeness.