It’s been a week since I arrived back in my village. I was glad to arrive at a place I once called home. From my long journey on my oxcart, the scorching sun and lifeless vegetation greeted me with more enthusiasm than my friends. “Welcome home” a crackly voice greeted me. My arms opened wide to receive a friend that, surprisingly, leaned forward to only pat on my back. In this moment, I felt like a stranger in my own village – clearly I have been gone too long. A few familiar faces were rugged with the harsh reality of life – grey hairs in their head, hatched backs changing their walks and wobbly teeth filling their smiles.
The pets in the community seemed happier than their owners. I could hear their moans of hunger and misfortune without them saying a word. Life had taken a toll on the people I called friends. They kept to themselves as I walked by, only offering me a nod upon my return. I was compelled to ask why my return was greeted with such coldness, but my heart advised me not to. I offloaded my suitcases, entered my boarding and immediately threw myself on my bed. I coiled on my tiny bed and reminisced about the old good days in my village. We shared a bowl of soup with the people I once called friends; but they now seem unbothered by my presence.
Their mood only changed when they received the good tidings I came with. Suddenly we were in a candy shop. With their long hands, wrinkled clothes, zig zagged with protruding veins, they shared the gifts I carried – leaving me in the dust. They skipped and hopped to their huts with no whistling sound of acknowledgement – the silence was loud. After a weeklong visit, only a pair of footprints are seen in my yard. I am indeed a stranger in my own village who no longer knows which direction the wind is blowing. I have been gone too long.
Holistic Hazel