Wanderer

Life is no Rubik cube. At least I find it difficult to fix every aspect in its exact place. My life is a kaleidoscope, where joy and sorrow twirl together in a colorful mixture. So I walk. I walk through life and I walk through the fields surrounding my little town. Some steps take me closer to love ones, some steps are a mistake, but that’s life.

I lift my foot. And at this moment a dilemma is imposed. Should I go further ahead or go back. My feet are light and can carry me away from troubles, but sometimes I drag them towards murky waters of trauma and disappointment where the fight for what I want is never a merciful one.

The sound of chirping birds makes my mind wander. Towards the laughter of my child. I haven’t seen her in months. Is she OK, does she miss me, the way I miss her? With custody battle gone the wrong way, I walk through life with a heavy heart. The clouds reveal brighter sights, and so does my imagination. Like a ray of light through my gloomy day, I imagine seeing my child again, and we feel the blessing of being together and caring.

I simply put one foot after another. There is no struggle. I gave up the uphill of desire for the even ground of sensibility. Left foot, right foot, light, full of energy. The spring has been, but there is still a lingering smell in the air, is it freshly cut grass, or is it the death of my hope. Hope that I will be a mother and hope that I will be needed. My mind wanders again.

The smell of fear cannot be camouflaged with expensive perfume, it penetrates through the pathetic attempts to look normal. My mental health is rickety, and it betrays me at the worst possible times. Pills cannot defeat sorrow. Walking helps forget about it, but it is not once and for all. The sorrow finds its way to the consciousness, engulfing the appreciation of this joyful world with one powerful punchline: you lost your child, you lost your child. You may not see her forever and ever. And then the birds stop singing. The flowers lean down their crowns and tears drop from their petals. And the wind threatens to blow down every shelter I can put my trust into. The anger takes its tall. My steps get faster. My breathing too. I feel disdain. Hate for the authorities. Discontent with her father, who when I see them on the street, turns into the other direction and runs away from me, so I cannot even say “hi” to my poor baby. And then my wondering mind forgets that I’m one with nature, that I’m out to escape from the calamity and the calamity gets me. Waves of disgruntle hit me from every direction. Why are the authorities so biased toward mental health issues? Why is her father such a moron? Why is my mind playing tricks on me when I least need it?

I have walked the corridors in the hospital until they are worn out with no answer. Now that I am out, the intoxicating feel of liberty overwhelms the fears and sadness. My awareness sharpens, the swaying branches of the trees, the bees in the bushes, relentlessly gathering nectar, and my feet, one after another. Nature is here for me, to heal my broken soul. It offers cooling breeze amid kissing sunshine and the kaleidoscope of life twirls again. The colors are not bright, and how could they be when I am away from my precious little one, but still there is promise in the air. Get better, get better. And I look at the blossoming bushes. Like a little bee, I need to finish this walk without letting the sorrow stray me from my purpose in life. My feet are barely touching the ground. My heart is steady. My breathing is an ocean and breathing in-breathing out chases like waves hitting the shore. The hair by my face tickles. And my mind lets me drift away again. The hands of my child touching my face, what a tormenting flashback. There is no sensation that is not related to motherhood in my drained state. Drinking water: breastfeeding. The weight of my backpack: carrying my daughter when she could barely stay on her feet. Walking: watching her blossoming like a flower.

I need a save port from this storm. Walking towards a bridge. The running water is a good friend, it murmurs a thousand sounds of encouragement and support. I go to the end of the bridge then turn back and do it several times. I do not care it looks weird, even though with the stigma of mentally ill in a little town you should be careful. I’d like to think there is a bridge in the legal system, beyond their fears, that I can cross and be with my child. One step, two steps, one step, two steps. Get better. Get stronger. Get the strength to accept the things I cannot change. But I know. Separating mother and a child is unnatural, even the fierce waters underneath whisper it in the language of God. So my steps will bring me back to her one day. Step after step, I head towards my empty home with an empty heart facing empty life, still, with that promise of changing seasons. Soon are the floods coming, they come every year. They correspond to the storm in my heart and the feeling that my world is ending. I will still be walking. And walking by the brimming river, I will hope for change.