who am i in this wide world? just a miniscule dot in a painting with more than a million brushstrokes. just a single ant working in an anthill larger than life. just a faint voice in the roar of the earth.
i might be small, but i have a passport. in my little red book it says i was born in a country so small it could be a village other places in the world. but my village is what i know as home. or rather, knew.
i don’t know if i feel at home, really at home, any more. neither here nor there. the old red brick walls that comprise my childhood. then the blant grey tiles that created memories for a lifetime.
i am neither here nor there. i am both here and there. where is here and there even?
having taken the first step into the vastness of the globe we all call home, there is no way i can ever go back to the life i lived before having seen another place, another perspective of the planet, my life, myself.
i still hold my little red book, the book that gives me access to discovering new places on the earth, but now it no longer only holds my birth place. now, it holds stamps from other places, other countries, other experiences.
it is evidence of my life as it is now, as it will always be. it is no longer a documentation of my belonging to a single country. rather, it is testimony to me being a citizen of the world. of the whole entire planet.
on earth i live, but on earth, i am only temporary. i am small. i am just another set of footsteps to wander the beauty of the planet. and wander i will. wander from here to there to everywhere. wander to places i know, places i don’t know. in order to find more stamps to put in my passport. to find more places to call home. in order to find myself, the little zephyr in the planet’s raging storm.
but maybe being insignificant in the wider picture leaves you with freedom to be your own. to be who you are. to find out what stamps should appear in your personal book, what stamps should define your places on earth.
or maybe the stamps are just formalities. maybe the book is just for the systems to know you. maybe you write your own book along your way, put your own stamps in your self-written book. if that is true, write your own book with only the stamps that mean something to you. with only the stamps that give you a feeling of belonging. because in this stormy, boundless world, feeling rooted is the greatest sense of belonging you can ever write in your book.
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