Following The Thread of Your Longing

Dear Friend,

When I try to imagine the story of my life, I see the world as if a road in Yangon leads straight into downtown Dubai. As if I could walk down the Scottish mountains towards a side-of-the-road tortilla stall in Nicaragua.

In some ways, I can.

When I shut my eyes and remember all the details of Bo Yar Nyunt Lan in Yangon. I remember the face of the man who sold grains to feed the pigeons and the lady who taught me all the names of the fruits in Burmese at her pavement stall. I see the worn, wooden frames of the chairs at the local teashop and the feel of the Burmese naan bread folded between my fingers.

Yet, when I try to see the bigger story, like why did I end up in Yangon? What did 10 years of life there teach me? What was I meant to learn in this country which I saw open before my eyes, then close again 10 years later, giving children only the chance to briefly dream, before what it was becoming was already gone?

It is only when I zoom in on the details that I see everything:

The colours of the fruit on the roadside stalls, the evergreen of the tea leaf salad, the second-hand books on the pavement stalls, turned yellow with mould and time.

I hear everything too: the dawn and dusk crows, the call of the water bottle sellers, the scream of the construction drills.

And when I ask, what was this story, what was this lesson of language, culture and learning about home so far from home? What did it mean to find some belonging in a place I might never return?

There is no Hollywood story of redemption. No overcoming of lessons, no hero’s arc or heroine’s ribbons.

But there is the sound of the corn scattering for the birds, the voices of the people who shout good morning as I walk to work.

There is still the sound of the pigeon wings.

There is the crossing of paths, the never to be repeated meeting of human, bird wing, place.

There is still the longing to one day, return.

Travel gently friend,

Catriona

Prompt

Where does your longing lead you?

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