Marks

I streched my left ear when I was 17 for aestetic reasons, today it consists of a slit in my lobe that has altered its shape. And only the most observant will notice the fine line on my cheek, the remains of my pet rabbit scratching me when I was 10. I have a tattoo on my right thigh, a 1cm square frenzy that occured in a garage with two punks that I used to call my friends. I have bruises from last week that appeared beyond my awareness, and they live on me as a symbol of the past with all the rest. Picked scabs, drunken tumbles, everyday bumps, even the meaningless marks are evidence of my encounters with life. They all remind me of specific times, the struggles, the joys, the people that coloured my days, what I believed in and what I wanted for the future. I observe that time washes over me. I change but I stay the same. And I'll never be who I am again.

But none of the important wounds are left on my skin. It's harder to grasp what caused the anxiety I feel when I walk to work than it is to remember how I got a scar on my arm. I live with these marks so much more intensely than the physical ones. They are with me at all times like the others, although much heavier to carry. They are there so I remember my experiences. The emptiness I feel when someone walks out the door, the fear that silences me around road rage, and even the emotion that arises when I receive love and kindness, these are simply marks of the past. The way I look at myself in the mirror today is the result of the way I was treated yesterday. How could I not be left wounded by neglect, abuse or loneliness ? How could it not leave a scar ?

Physical or not, as ugly as they get, the marks can be celebrated. I am not a clean slate and will never be. Collected memories forever there and forever gone. I carry history in my words, my eyes, my heart, and my skin. I share it with whoever will listen. Because it is an honour to own the stories of a life nobody else has lived.

I love you like fire loves kindling 

Has the feeling won? Is there a point where the sensible thing to do is to give in?

Last night I could not sleep. I was hit by the idea that I was in hell. That this life is hell, a hell that I've built.

Hell because how can I be so detached from everything? How could I afford to move to the other side of the world and still feel like I've lost nothing? Where were my friends on my birthday and where will they be next year? Who will know if I get fired or if I break a bone? Why was my mum enigmatic anytime we spoke in the past decade? Why does every interaction feel distorted in discomfort? Why does my family never call and why do we all live in separate countries? Have they all denied my existence?

How can this all be real?

Where did it all go?

Estranged from the ones who make me, I am estranged from myself. And all becomes hostile when lost in this darkness, when there's no one or nowhere to call home. 'Home is where your heart is' said my mum. But my heart is lost without you. My heart does not know where it belongs anymore, because all the people I loved have vanished.

This is what slowly discovering van life together looks like

Home is anywhere you are

Prettiest creature

Hanging Rock, Victoria, Australia

Finally here

Underground adventures

Happy happy happy

The world’s a little blurry 

What makes me truly truly happy

The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep

Robert Frost

My favorite place

Sun in my life