This is my final letter in the April Love challenge.
It's funny to have lived somewhere my whole life and still have an unshakeable yearning for some place else, a place that I haven't yet seen. While I'm grateful for all that is unique to my island culture - spicy foods; quick, quirky local lingo that is sometimes more apt than regular English; and summer-all-year type weather - I've always felt that something was missing. It's a hard to define yet clear puzzle piece that travel has not quite filled; rather, it's heightened my search for a safe place to drop the anchor.
In bigger cities and countries, there is an individual anonymity that comes with size. Here, I often feel stifled by the small-town vibe, the common occurrence of knowing somebody who knows somebody whose aunt/neighbour/boss/friend is my xyz. In some ways, I feel naked and vulnerable here, a feeling magnified by being different - wanting a life that's different from the majority's, and having a different way of processing the world around me - and not emotionally safe to be me. When I allow my thoughts to wander, I wind up mentally replaying a dream from my teens. I had a huge desire to live somewhere remote yet with creature comforts in easy reach; lush and beautiful, rustic even. I saw myself working from home, enveloped in the ease of a quiet life. A favourite diner. A familiar market. It was the haven I craved from the 'noise' of typical every day life. I didn't have the self awareness then to recognise my emotional needs for space and quiet time as clearly as I do now, but this image was always appealing to me, tiptoeing around the edges of my consciousness.
Drifting through these last few years has felt like I'm wandering a maze, still in search of this El Dorado.