A journey of self and memory

 “She always had the sense that her real life is happening somewhere else, very far away, happening without her”. I once read this at an early age, and it became the far yet so close voice that whispers at the back of my head all the time. I kept thinking how I would never want to reach this stage, of feeling that my life is happening somewhere else, and I am not part of it. I wanted to be everywhere, doing everything! One thing I did not know, however, is that in my endeavors to be part of my own life, there will be an invincible feeling of yearning— yearning for…everything. 

Leaving my home country behind, as a relentless endeavor to find, and, better yet, be part of my own life, left me an insidious feeling of yearning that comes crawling to me every now and then. My lungs sometimes inflate with the onrush of memories— of family, of people, of places. I close my eyes and all this darkness there is gets colored by the most beautiful palette of these memories being revived, again, in my imagination— so vivid that I can sometimes hear the sound of my mom, the noise of the street, the giggles of my nephews, feel the smell of the food, the shiver of the frost in a December. Still, I open my eyes; and I see a future branching out before me like a bigleaf maple. Torn between my desire to be part of my own life or giving in to the memories, comes gently a thought patting me on the shoulder, telling me that yearning will always be there. Because wherever I sat— on a sidewalk in one of Egypt’s street or in a café shop drinking Maracuya in Colombia, I will always find something to yearn for. So, I close my eyes and immerse myself into yearning, enjoying every second of this infinite security, and I lift my eyes, to inhale with every part of my being, the rushing excitement of change, of shooting off at all directions, of exploring and, most importantly, of being part of my own life.