sous le soleil d’hiver

Every year, on this day, I look back at the roads I’ve walked, at the people I’ve kissed and mourned, at the places I’ve left, at the scars on my body, at the stories I wrote, and at what I haven’t made peace with yet. Every year, I resolve to make peace with all that I have been and all that I have seen.

This year, I’ve decided to do something different. Under this winter sun, watching the leaves form a carpet of red and yellow under my feet, warming my fingers over a cup of fresh-brewed jasmine tea, I have decided to go on without looking back. It is new to me. Nostalgia (retrospection and introspection) has been stock-in-trade for years. All my stories have a faint thread of truth ported directly from my life. My life has been more eventful than it could have been. I have known women and men, and they have stamped their marks fiercely on my existence. Yet, at the core, I find now that the essence of what I am remains the same. It took me a long time to separate ‘I’ from ‘We’. The separation, when it eventually made sense to me, was a beautiful epiphany. What am I that we are not?

Perhaps it is time to write new stories. Perhaps it is time to let loose the imagination wild and stop trying to make sense of all that I haven’t made sense of in my life. It will all make sense when it chooses to.

The winter sun is bright and cold. It is beautiful.

It is time to walk forward and to say hello to this new season.  It is time to speak French, sketch caricatures, drink jasmine tea, tinker with wood, make love, write new stories and laugh.

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