Looking back

Today, this Wednesday morning, I am sitting on an old sofa writing about what I still can not decipher. The days can be very intense when you go back to what used to be my whole idea of a home. The truth is that three years living outside the country have not helped me feel closer to any kind of absolute truth, on the contrary, every day I am more convinced that the more I think I know, the universe grows monstrously.
Where is my home now? My parents are tired of these questions. "Child, wake up, your home is here." I breathe. Sometimes I feel helpless about not being able to find the precise words to explain that it is not so easy because the soul does not accept any answers. Home is you and you and you. To think better, here I drink coffee, there chai.
A couple of hours ago I felt that my heart was going to explode. Memories threaten moments that will never come back. Memories threaten oblivion. The cliches of yesteryear serve me sometimes. In India I learned that we must let go of harmful attachments, I learned to live the present as a survival technique, more than the present, minute by minute. Here I try to put into practice what I have learned; some days I have it quite well, and others cost me a lot. It is part of the process; observe, breathe, pause, accept, identify. It takes some days to digest the food. In the society of the immediate, pausing costs more than it should.
I miss children from the school where I worked. Arrive in the morning and help them with their homework. Laugh with the girls and respond with strange answers to each of your questions. My students absorbed all my energy. Seventy students in a classroom were not easy to guide; all with different interests, perspectives, learning rhythms, talents. When I joined the community, I questioned the usefulness of the school educational model because the classroom has different purposes depending on the situation. Living in the city of Pune with a local family made me open my eyes to new realities from the privacy of a home. Valuable moments such as sharing a plate of food, understanding new social and cultural norms, associating personal experiences. Without a doubt, I am absolutely grateful for such a rich experience and, although it has been difficult to approach at times and requires almost always a lot of creativity and flexibility, I feel happy for the lessons learned. Now, sometimes I feel that life is like a collage a little absurd. I am sticking cuts on the sheet. Sometimes the whole has an obvious sense, although it also happens that including a different cut becomes quite rare. So we go, pasting cuts, with the certainty that life is a work of art. We relate to different spaces and beings that, from time to time, give great meaning to our path. We are not always aware of how influential something can be in our lives, but each piece finds its place at the right time. We have to trust in ourselves and in life itself. I am an idealist who knows that only of dreams we cannot live, but they are necessary to live.
It must be said that this is my experience and that it does not reflect what others have felt when they returned home-
Thank you for reading.