BALANCE
land, sea, and time hit like
a tidal wave. “You’re not
ready to leave…” came the
unbidden thought, “You’re
just not ready.”
The familiar ache of
heartstrings being tugged
in too many directions
unravelled my self-control.
Drowned by the sound of the
roaring engine, I succumbed
to the shuddering sobs
raking through my body and
the tears cascading down my
face. As the plane hovered
somewhere between land
and air, my world dropped
from beneath me. All sense
of balance was lost.
HOME IS WHERE THE
HEART IS
Before I ever learned
to walk, I flew. Having
immediate family and close
friends scattered around the
world, it was predestined for
my brother and I to become
globetrotters. As a child,
I convinced myself that
the perfect chord had been
struck between the different
“
Perhaps it is
realizing that
at every
departure and
every
arrival, you
have grown
into a new
person.
”
places I led my life, that I
stood strong with one foot
on either side of the Atlantic.
Three months here, four
months there, a week with so
and so, cramming as much
into a day or a handful of
hours as possible—it was all
part of a formula.
“Home” became a concept
beyond brick and mortar, a
simple term that described
wherever loved ones were.
Every “home” we frequented
imparted pieces of that
culture—the energy of New
York, the passion of Italy,
the comfort of England—all
fused together to cultivate
singular interests. While
“hello’s” would inevitably
be countered by “see you
soon’s”, everyone always
knew better than to say
“goodbye.”
However, over the years
this formula became flawed.
Perhaps it is realizing that at
every departure and every
arrival, you have grown into
a different person. Perhaps it
is the fact that with age, you
learn the frightening march
of life’s fatal clock and begin