I’ve survived to see another morning! I think I’m going to live for sure this time. The porridge is simmering/boiling over on the stove. I’m sipping my early morning Chai and tapping my heart away. Life looks good again. I’m savouring this moment, breathing in the goodness, thankful for God’s caring of this wilful child.
Yes, I have been lost in the wilderness of my desert, succumbing for awhile to the devil siren’s songs. I have wandered these last few days, following her enticing melodies – like the rats after the Pied Piper. I have been lost, but now I am found.
It is good to step out of desert into the oasis that is my life. I no longer feel that it is small. I no longer feel I am small. I am a woman who have accomplished much in her life time. She has travelled from her village in China, to Hong Kong and then Canada. In her life here, she has travelled to the Scandinavian countries, Australia, New Zealand, Japan, China. Malaysia, Thailand. She has cruised the Caribbean and Alaska. She has just returned from France. And she does not call China home any more.
This woman has been a child. She is a daughter, a sister, an aunt, a friend. She has waitressed, been a secretary and a nurse. She has walked and stumbled many a times. She has celebrated, cried and suffered losses. She will many times again. She has lived and does not need instructs on how to be. She is learning always – on how to be better in this universe.
For now, she has given up writing her novel during NaWriNoMo. Instead she has taken up lolling and resting in the warmth of the sun, reading Alice Munro and Joyce Carol Oates. She is enjoying their words and artistry of plots and descriptions. She hopes it will rub off on her.
She is no longer thinking of herself as a rat but a desert flower, blooming despite her arid past. She no longer feels she lacks but is rich and fulfilled – with love and experience, if of a different sort. She is after all rather eccentric or so she’s been told not just once. It is a compliment most supreme.
Joy is rushing into her now. Ideas and words are popping into her head. The words are rushing to come out of her fingertips. Whoa, slow down! One at a time please. My fingers can only go so fast. What is the hurry? There is time. Tomorrow is another day. Don’t mess me up now, Scarlet.