Pensive

For the last two years, the following poem struck me to the core. I sympathized with its very mood & message. Here is a bite of Canadian poet Endre Farkas' poem "Old Country Talk":


There are times
like always
when we feel as if
we are immigrants in ourselves

Why we left Where
we do not know

and even if we did
there is no choice about arriving

We are given a threadbare shape
into which we slip
as into second-hand silence



It resonates with me. But I feel as of late that I am feeling at home in myself, that I am coming into the answers I have so long searched for. Things are finally falling into place -- or at least I have a sense of how they will come together.

The last year has been a tumultuous one riddled with questions and barricades and challenges -- and most trying of all, uncertainty. The final one gnaws at your vulnerable soul. It drains you.

I'm not claiming to have answers. Mostly, I have hints of answers to come, tantalizing tidbits of what my life will hold -- and mostly I have a newfound confidence in my ability to shape my future, a strengthened belief in turning possibility into actuality.

I know that I can.