I almost find it amusing how this trip has shifted my life. It is almost
like it took being away from home for 500+ days to realize that I’m just not
cut out for it. However, as I now feel my heart pulling towards a home, I also
stand here lost in Europe. There is a part of my soul that will never leave
these ancient cities. How when you grew up in a country that is younger than
the flat you lived in, in Ireland, one could think their home has the answers. But
what does your home know? It’s just a babe.
As it turns out, Europe helps to provide many questions. It also made me realized that although I am Canadian, and yes again Canadian, and a bit offended you’re still asking,…, Canadian. I am at the end of it, all so enamoured with Europe. It seems my soul beats to the same drum as Europe, Andalusia to be specific. A region unparalleled in my exploration.
I have learned in my European adventure that as it would so happen, I come from a country that has never fought a single war on our soil. I don’t know who you are, or where you’re from, but that is saying a lot. It also changes the shape of who I am as a person. I have never lived in fear. I have never felt my freedom restricted.
I was blessed enough to grow up in an era where my mother would literally whistle to call us (my sister & I) in for dinner. The rules were, we could be anywhere in the neighbourhood provided we could hear her whistle. And to this day I still know exactly what my mother’s whistle sounds like, out of love, not fear.
Travelling Europe has broken my heart so many times. I find myself feeling guilty for the “luxury” I was born into. There is also a small part of me that feels angry that people judge me for my “privileged” life.
It is not my fault I was born in a different country.
I am forever pulled back to the motherland. How can I be over here in Europe professing to be such a proud Canadian? Should I not be in the country I think is so amazing?
Even more so, should I not thank my ancestors for whatever struggles they no doubt endured to allow me to be born in Canada? There was no magic fairy that just made it so. I reckon my ancestors fought survival battles of their own for me to be so blessed with this life. And I owe them.
I reckon I owe them enough to know they fought, struggled, nearly starved, half froze to death to provide me with everything they wanted for their children. So as I return to Canada, I do so with the realization that I have people to thank for the amazing life, I was fortunate enough to grow up in.
It took 500+ days,
Thank you,
Forever and always
Walls, Jones, Russman, Kennedy
As it turns out, Europe helps to provide many questions. It also made me realized that although I am Canadian, and yes again Canadian, and a bit offended you’re still asking,…, Canadian. I am at the end of it, all so enamoured with Europe. It seems my soul beats to the same drum as Europe, Andalusia to be specific. A region unparalleled in my exploration.
I have learned in my European adventure that as it would so happen, I come from a country that has never fought a single war on our soil. I don’t know who you are, or where you’re from, but that is saying a lot. It also changes the shape of who I am as a person. I have never lived in fear. I have never felt my freedom restricted.
I was blessed enough to grow up in an era where my mother would literally whistle to call us (my sister & I) in for dinner. The rules were, we could be anywhere in the neighbourhood provided we could hear her whistle. And to this day I still know exactly what my mother’s whistle sounds like, out of love, not fear.
Travelling Europe has broken my heart so many times. I find myself feeling guilty for the “luxury” I was born into. There is also a small part of me that feels angry that people judge me for my “privileged” life.
It is not my fault I was born in a different country.
I am forever pulled back to the motherland. How can I be over here in Europe professing to be such a proud Canadian? Should I not be in the country I think is so amazing?
Even more so, should I not thank my ancestors for whatever struggles they no doubt endured to allow me to be born in Canada? There was no magic fairy that just made it so. I reckon my ancestors fought survival battles of their own for me to be so blessed with this life. And I owe them.
I reckon I owe them enough to know they fought, struggled, nearly starved, half froze to death to provide me with everything they wanted for their children. So as I return to Canada, I do so with the realization that I have people to thank for the amazing life, I was fortunate enough to grow up in.
It took 500+ days,
Thank you,
Forever and always
Walls, Jones, Russman, Kennedy
