All is said… and done

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All is said

When all is said and done
I am only flying home.

Like the young curlew flying
Not knowing, north
Assured only by collective memories
Of a past not lived,
Universal in nature, instinctive.

Carried on the wings of others
Gone before, in trust
Of the flock marshalling its strength
Never ceasing its formation,
Forever holding, eternal love.

When all is said and done
Love, me myself and I.

– FlorenceT

© 2015 Copyright reserved. The author asserts her moral and legal rights over this work.

Going away to come home

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This feels different, and it feels right.

 

“We travel, some of us forever, to seek other places, other lives, other souls.” – Anais Nin

It wasn’t until I was in my 22nd year that I first travelled solo. Despite having lived away from home for many years by then, I was reserved, conservative and with only one goal in mind – to ensure that I maintained the scholarship I received to study law in Australia. I was reminded not to gallivant around having fun and being distracted.

You see, I was one of the blessed ones to have had the opportunity to visit many places – locally and abroad – despite growing up in a lower middle income family. My parents decided they were to expose their children to the world beyond theirs, so my brother and I could be inspired. We were taken on short and long trips, intrepid and luxurious holidays. They were always rewards for hard work and effort, probably for the parents as well as the children. This I am sure instilled in me the desire to experience the world beyond mine, to be curious of how others live. Even now.

Something however screamed within me at 22 to be brave, to step out of the stereotypical life of the Asian student (yes, you got the image in your mind, don’t you? 🙂 and the answer is ‘yes’). So I plucked up my courage and told my family I would not be returning home that summer and that I would be spending my time backpacking round Australia. And that I did. At its conclusion, I had grown emotionally and psychologically, certainly more streetwise, less naïve and more self-assured about many aspects of me.

The crux however was that I had travelled to seek another life, to attempt to experience it even if for a little while. And in the short time, I had found ‘another’ soul within me, from which I still hear its call now and then. It was escapism.

 

“The man who goes alone can start today; but he who travels with another must wait till that other is ready.” – Henry David Thoreau

It wasn’t till some 20 years later that I took the opportunity to travel solo again. I was impatient and tired of waiting, for what I knew not then except that I was not waiting any longer. In a bid to reclaim, perhaps to prove to myself I was still brave (despite all the things I had done in the intervening years) I took myself to France, picked up a car and drove for nearly a month. Not nearly long enough but enough for me to find my wings again. To learn one can always start again.

The motivation for the sojourn then was still escapism, still seeking another life, another soul. I made a vow then to do this on regular intervals, to remind myself should I forget that I am indeed brave.

 

“We travel, initially, to lose ourselves, and we travel, next, to find ourselves. We travel to open our hearts and eyes. And we travel, in essence, to become young fools again—to slow time down and get taken in, and fall in love once more.” – Pico Iyer

So on that vow, I am now in the South of USA. Being brave. It is different though, this time it feels right. I had seized opportunities and said ‘yes’ on many occasions to be here.

Most importantly I did not come in order to escape. Quite the contrary, I am here because it felt like an arrival to my future. I do not yet know what will become of the work I am doing, the places and people I will meet. I do know I am meeting them all from a place assured that no matter what, it is unfolding as it should because I am privileged to be able to indulge in my passions. So I will greet the outcomes, the consequences with gratitude and grace.

 

“A mind that is stretched by a new experience can never go back to its old dimensions.” – Oliver Wendell Holmes

Dare I suggest the cycle is complete…? That in my wanderings I am finally home? For some reason, I suspect life is not so simple or so easy. I only know that I am more myself than I ever was when I began this journey. I also know there is no better self-discovery than the one I make when I am a solo traveller.  It is enough. I am prepared for and attentive to the discovery and lessons I will take away with me.

 

“All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware.” – Martin Buber

So, I exhort you to go out and explore.  Step beyond the comfort zone. You may not know what you will find, but then that’s at least half the fun! 🙂

 

– FlorenceT

© 2016 FlorenceT Copyright reserved. The author asserts her moral and legal rights over this work.

The room within

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Connecting three dots… so bear with me.

1. Late last night, a friend thought I might enjoy Sue Vincent’s writing prompt revolving around this picture…in less than 100 words. At the time I was inspired to write of a cosy space, filled with what I love… books.  But it was late then…

hobbit-door

2. But this morning, I was struck by this sense of our humanity as I sat in my car waiting for the light to go green, watching the sea of people crossing, each unique and yet the same as we go about our daily life, making a living, caring, loving, bearing loss, feeling anxious, being grateful, experiencing pain…

3. As I sat sipping my morning coffee, I was reminded of one of my all time favourite songs “All of Me” by John Legend while reading Erika Kind’s ‘Song of the Day’ post.

And thus inspired, here is what I think lies behind the door:

Beyond the door lies a space which beckons and welcomes, lit by the warm glow of a smouldering hearth. And stepping into this room with its low whitewashed ceiling, it compels an exhale of air releasing the tension and anxiety of the day. Stretching from the floor of polished rocks to the ceiling and spanning the walls, books gently and haphazardly compete for space on shelves of polished timber.

At the center sits a sofa of dark leather, aged by constant use, its texture softened by loving. A pale sheepskin rug lay before it. Here you find the room’s only occupants. They share this library and experience great comfort, exhilaration and joy from its contents, as much as from each other. Always acknowledging their unique human need to connect and to separate, to be individuals and to be one. No matter the disappointments, the loss, the grandeur and thrill of beyond, they know they are home to each other.

Alright, I am a romantic too… at times…when I have time to be. Interesting thought…having time to be romantic…?

– FlorenceT

 

© 2016 FlorenceT Copyright reserved. The author asserts her moral and legal rights over this work.

Haiku Challenge 53 & Waiting for Love @RonovanWrites

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RonovanWrites Haiku Challenge 53 with prompt words – Guide, Mad

Haiku 1:

For what is anger 
  Wasted energy, a fear 
  Leading not to love.

Haiku 2:

 May the stars shine bright
  Leading your crazed heart homeward 
  Lost soul no longer.

On a similar theme, here’s a song from Swedish producer Avicii with Martin Garrix and John Legend.

Enjoy!

– FlorenceT

© 2015 Copyright reserved. The author asserts her moral and legal rights over this work.

Where is your home?

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Tranquility

Never make your home in a place.
Make a home for yourself inside your own head.
You’ll find what you need to furnish it – memory, friends you can trust,
         love of learning, and other such things.
That way it will go with you wherever you journey.
                                                                                 Tad Williams

 

© 2014 Copyright reserved. The author asserts her moral and legal rights over this work.

 

This is home

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A guest poem – ‘This is Home’ – on Eye Will Not Cry. Enjoy!

MEANINGS AND MUSINGS

Eyewillnotcry1973’s invitation was a surprise, and humbling and daunting, given how well he writes. 

Well I try, and here is the result…

This is home

Unsure of her reception
Despite an invitation
She steps across the threshold
Into her fantasy
And she waits.

Continue reading ‘This is home

Thanks again Eyewillnotcry1973 for your invitation, and a fitting image for the poem…?  🙂

It has been fun.  And to quote Eyewillnotcry1973 “your interpretation of my words, is of course yours“.

And those who do not know Eyewillnotcry1973 and his words, visit Eye Will Not Cryand you’ll be mesmerized.

Enjoy!

– FlorenceT

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This is home

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Eyewillnotcry1973’s invitation was a surprise, and humbling and daunting, given how well he writes. 

Well I try, and here is the result…

This is home

Unsure of her reception
Despite an invitation
She steps across the threshold
Into her fantasy
And she waits.

Continue reading ‘This is home

Thanks again Eyewillnotcry1973 for your invitation, and a fitting image for the poem…?  🙂

It has been fun.  And to quote Eyewillnotcry1973 “your interpretation of my words, is of course yours“.

And those who do not know Eyewillnotcry1973 and his words, visit Eye Will Not Cry and you’ll be mesmerized.

Enjoy!

– FlorenceT

Day 11 Home

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When I was twelve, home was a safe haven. It was a place where I was protected, cared for and my safety ensured. Within this 3-bedroom brick home of modest proportions, home was a relatively calm place of doing the usual stuff – education and learning for the children. Functional routine and discipline were in place so a minute was not wasted on the frivolity of life. A holding place for lives striving for perfection, or at least maximising opportunities. Crowded into this single-storey was a space where music prevailed – with a yellow feature wall the subject of much ridicule and humour. Much time spent on playing the piano and singing. Television was the ultimate evil. The combined kitchen and dining room was the heart of the house – meals cooked and shared, conversations unending it would seem, stories and laughter shared. Framed picture of various sizes lined the beige walls, capturing the moments of our lives.

The house was located within a lower middle class town. It had enough unsavoury elements to ensure we children were not allowed out after dark. Neither were we encouraged to hang out with other children in the neighbourhood, for the neighbourhood was a little scary even for my parents. So, our friends were few but those we had were steadfast.

I remember time spent in the garden – cavorting and rumbling on the lawn – with great fondness. A space where family congregated and interacted. This was the place where family gatherings occurred – potted plants moved to make way for tables and chairs, and the barbeque. Picnic rugs made their appearances where the children assembled for boards games. The cacophony of noise – pleasant though they might have been – was a little overwhelming at times for a 12-year old.

It was nevertheless an idyllic time. Perhaps it was as Willa Cather said,

“Some memories are realities, and are better than anything that can ever happen to one again.”