I can’t breathe

I blog in my head from time to time as things happen. I just start formulating sentences in my head to describe them as if I was writing.

I enjoy writing. I enjoy talking to the little voices in my head and come to new conclusions about what’s going on inside there. It is a very confusing place, I tell you.

The reason why I need to do that is because 98% of the time, when something is bothering me, I have no idea what it is. I just don’t know myself that well. Or maybe I just don’t have enough time to figure it out. There’s always something.

Right now I guess I could say that the fact that we are living in a country I know nothing about, in a basement with barely any windows in a city I absolutely couldn’t stand from the moment I google-mapped it and the fact that my friend’s baby is sick are kind of the main things that are keeping my breaths short.

I just wish I could relax. Enjoy it a little bit. Enjoy the fact that I’m getting to be with my babies all day and take those long walks down the trail by the lake as the weather is allowing us to right now. I do not mean to take things for granted and I am oh-so-grateful for every small piece of life that is precisely at it’s right place right now. I’ve worked hard for this.

Maybe I will get a job I can stand, at some point, in one of the hundreds of cities in Canada I would love to call home. But maybe I won’t. And if I don’t I don’t wanna live a short-breathed life. I wanna take deep breaths and enjoy every dump we might find ourselves in as we live on Child Benefits just because I built this family and I got us out of Brazil. Just because we are together and we are fine…

That should be enough.

 

Please, take me home.

I was reading this beautiful blog and it got me thinking about things…. The way she describes Canada as her home and also the home of her great, great grandparents with so much love and affection got me thinking about what it must feel like to be home.

I’ve been fantasying about walking into my own house, to find my family sitting by the dinner table, or perhaps just having a video game slumber party in the living room for way too long. The house in my head is not big and beautiful. It’s small and cozy… it’s also ours and it makes us not want to leave.

It is a sad thing to not feel at home where you live, to not have your own house. It’s a feeling of abandonment. You want to go home, but home is nowhere to be found.

Ever since I was a young girl I wanted to leave this place. I remember opening my window and crying over the view. I was seven. Everything was deteriorated  and poor and just plain sad. I didn’t belong here. It wasn’t the worst place in the world, it was just not where I wanted to be. I can’t really put my finger on the reason why I’ve never liked it in here… but it’s there, lost in my memory somewhere.

That same window has been threatening me for 33 years now. I haven’t moved an inch, but things are about to change. We are leaving, finally.

People say I should stay and fight for this place, but I don’t think it’s really my battle to fight for a place I’ve never loved. I think I’m lucky to leave. I’ve never wanted to stay.

I just need to be somewhere where I can open my window and smile even if the sky is gray. Specially if the sky is gray, actually. I seem to find the winter rather poetic and welcoming. I’ll finally see the snow.

I hope we all find our homes… and I also secretly, or not so secretly, hope the people in this new place don’t see us as intruders. I hope my girls are well accepted… I’m not really worried about me, as long as they are fine.

I’m keeping my fingers crossed and my hopes up. A better life is about to start.

Wish me luck,

Love,

Shelly