by Emily Hime
It's hard living between two places you call home. Living between two families that you've now created. No matter where I am, I'm missing one of them.
This is the longest I've been away from Haiti. And my heart hurts so deeply...it's beyond comprehension. It longs for the mornings of a dozen small children bouncing on my bed and the simplicity of life on the island. The creativity that emerges when you are separated from such consumerism is astonishing. The way you learn to pass time, simply by doing nothing except enjoying the company of those around you or losing yourself to the echo of the dogs barking in the streets and the broken roosters that crow all hours of the night. You begin to miss the smiles. The greetings of kisses. And you start to become consumed once again by a materialistic life.
Everything you do, everywhere you go, every meal you prepare and every hot bath you take, is ruined. Because you know someone, somewhere, someone you know and have grown to love, is likely going without today.The guilt of daily life in North America haunts you. Everything you do, everywhere you go, every meal you prepare and every hot bath you take, is ruined. Because you know someone, somewhere, someone you know and have grown to love, is likely going without today.
It is hard having two homes. Because I can never be content standing in one place for too long. I can never be content knowing that I am so blessed to have two homes, when there are so many that don't even have one. Every thought, every action, absolutely everything you once knew becomes ruined when you know what lies beyond our borderlines. You will forever be changed, you will forever be ruined.
But maybe being ruined is the way we were all meant to live. Maybe that's our purpose. Maybe that's what it will take to motivate us to rise up and to start taking a stand against social injustices and global issues. Maybe being ruined is being awakened.