I live in a foreign land. Sometimes I understand the language and feel at home, other times I wander, clueless and alone.
The geography runs the gamut from harsh, frozen tundra, to parched desert sands. In between are lush hidden valleys; snow-capped peaks reflected in deep pools; untrammeled forest, not yet felled by axe. And although there are still jewel-bright glades and shining stars, there are also rivers, sluggish with the weight of pollution; stagnant lakes and pockets of toxic poisons, and seas that rage against the despair.
The lives within my country, like the landscape, are diverse: kind, loving, intelligent, caring…also rude and thoughtless, ignorant and fiercely angry at times. There is pain and sorrow, but often laughter and joy. Balance is hard won, acceptance harder.
There are many stories here. Layer upon layer of seemingly endless stories that echo from past voices, and make my heart yearn for future tales. Every day is new and I treasure each unveiling, even if I don't comprehend the meaning.
What is the name of this place, you ask?