Not good with saying good byes. Who is, really? Isn’t that why death is such a big deal for the ones remaining alive?
But most people I know can leave their past and receive closure very effectively. But I am finding it difficult. I am getting more attached as every day goes by. Age does that to you. I think we start valuing our possessions and more than that the ability to hold on to them as we grow old. And almost always, now a days, the words on my lips are, ‘But we just got here.’
I know how foster children feel. No place is home, except for that battered shanty from where they pulled them away thinking it wasn’t good enough for them. Just like any kid in the system, I would rather be with my crackhead mother than be passed around the clean hands of a society that doesn’t know how to hold me like she does. Saying good bye to yet another foster home. These folks were good…not amazing or anything. They weren’t the perfect fit…isn’t that why I am on the move?
But as I get ready to leave in a month, I sit by the porch and stare at the beautiful Southern Californian sky. At six in the evening, the sun and the moon are competing for their place in the blue sky. The clouds have been sprayed all over like a child playing with white paint. The hill beyond the house is like an old elephant with tiny hair on its back. An elephant that never wakes up from its million year stupor, but flinches every once in a while as if a fly sat on it.
I wonder how long it’ll take me to take it all in…is any amount of time enough? Nostalgia has set in even before I have left. What will happen after? Why does the past always hold the key to my dreams? Why does it look so good even when it is the present being seen from a future eye? It is not past yet, but it sure feels like it.
Will I see these skies again? Will the water in the sea be the same? Hopping along the west coast has left me with no home. I am a gypsy by profession and an heirloom farmer by heart. How torn can one person be?
Everytime I leave, a part of me stays behind for reference. I can slip into any of my past avatars because I have left a piece of my soul everywhere I have breathed. I have been creating horcruxes without even knowing it and I don’t know if I have any more of a soul left to splice up in pieces.
Life is difficult as it is without having no view except the rear view mirror’s. Being taken by surprise by blind spots don’t allow me to adjust myself and for the brief moment when there is a collision, all the horcruxes unite and make me complete. I am fully there, just for the impact….Only for the impact.