Ancestral Soil, Only Mud

“I give you yourselves.”

Not too long ago, when I thought of who I was and who I used to be, I felt shackled and bound by memories that make no difference now. Not only that but I felt guilty for finally accepting the end of certain friendships. Lord knows I tried, in vain, but now I realize that no matter what people will come and go, like anything else in life.

Johannah wrote to me, her letter was a nice surprise in the mail. In it she said, “we have changed so very much, every one of us, drifting in all sorts of directions. It is all good and completely natural, and I still appreciate those times when we were all so close. But know, it is no longer like that, and that moments can always be cherished but not held on to.”

When I first met Johannah, I was so naiive and terrified. I felt geographically and emotionally unaccounted for those first few months in New York, though I had the luck of being accompanied by such wonderful people as Johannah, Claudia, Kseniya, and Camila. Yet, in the three years since then, I can honestly say that I have grown into a genuinely goodhearted human being who knows what direction she wants to steer her life in.

Carlos and I talked outside one chilly night. We were freezing in our sweaters and not even the drags on our smokes or the sips of our pints could keep us warm. Still, the conversation was good and it was too loud to go inside, so we stayed out in the wind. We realized we had a lot in common that night. For one, he moved back from LA  around the same time I moved back from New York.

“It’s always hard keeping up with old friends, especially when they live in a city that’s twenty times as busy as yours,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “But it’s very comforting hearing from them, even if it is only a simple hello. It gives you roots to some place other than home.”

Another year is almost over, again. This last year was a particularly difficult one, not only because I had the aforementioned falling out with friends I once considered my family, but also because I had the hardest time getting myself to write again. In a city where the only locally published magazines mainly feature club hoppers and fashion spreads, it’s hard to find someone who’ll want to read what you have to say. Still, I’m going to keep the tale of the blind men and the elephant in mind over the course of the new year.

Every blind fool only knows what an elephant is depending on what he or she can touch. Keep on reaching for more and you will discover the truth.