I’ve never viewed myself as someone who’s rooted in her surrounding atmosphere. I am much too rooted within. But strangely enough, a new craving has stirred within me: a yearning to be grounded, for something or someone to give me a reason to stop moving.
Blossoming into a woman has been a beautiful journey. I never imagined I would change so regularly. In the same moment, I can transform. Now, the only challenge has been accepting these changes and going after them wholeheartedly. Because in all my growth and beauty, still, those deep parts of me are shattered. It won’t allow satisfaction in even the climax of moments. It ignores loved ones reaching out, makes decisions full of regret, and harbors pain.
Regardless I strive to learn the meaning of creating roots, of discovering the beauty of duration and understanding the pain and longevity that it yields (whether that be in relationships or long-winded traditions).
For me right now it looks like cooking and forming routines, inviting the idea of a permanent stay. Although the concept of staying rooted is foreign, I remain open to its course. I continue, opened, to the notions of being planted in more than one space, to a moment in time, or to someone you love. But bear with me, for tomorrow I may violently want to reject what I’ve learned and embark on a journey to somewhere or nowhere. I want to be okay with that.
Miss Parisia B.