To move freely you must be deeply rooted...

I wish so much that I had never been in the hurry, the rush, the whirlwind I was during my youth because I missed learning my roots. In my attempt to be an individual, I missed out on the best parts of my family. If I close my eyes, I can still experience every single sensation I associated with HOME. It is only recently that I have begun to explore the impact that my ancestors have had on me. Year after year, another person passed and I was unable to cry at every single funeral, and I never understood why. It was because I never took the time I needed to really, fully love.

I feel a sense of hypocrisy wash over me when I speak of how unsoiled my family’s name was. I can beat my chest in pride about the hard work they all did - the hours in the sun bailing hay or digging up potatos, but what I really feel is a deep overwhelming sense of regret. For once, I think this regret is healthy for me because it gives me time to explore the very family tree from which I fell and which I lay rotting at the bottom of, waiting for my seeds to extract and yield my own tree that others can be proud of. For my to wrap my arms around the massive trunk of my existence would be nearly impossible, but I’m willing to do it. It will take careful consideration and soft treading for me to find the source of my being.