Knowing The Cold

As the years go on where I am not home, I have learned how to speak my own language that only I can understand. When people ask me how I am, I say, “I am cold.” Most people assume that I mean I am cold because of the weather, but in my own language that only I understand it means so much more. I am cold means that I am far away from myself. It is a reminder that I am not at home because my home is never cold. I am cold means that I am longing for something more; longer days, shiny blue skies, dancing on rooftops, and perhaps love. I don’t know how I learned to speak my own language, but one day I decided to listen to myself and I heard.

I do not enjoy anything about the winter despite what anyone has to say about it being the most wonderful time of the year. I wake up and it’s dark. I go to bed and it’s dark. Everyone moves slower so as to avoid upsetting The Cold. As if speed is an act of defiance. Maybe The Cold is misunderstood, but The Cold is always a reminder that I’m (stuck) in someone else’s home. 

I do not always feel stuck here per say. Being a visitor is a sweet feeling. People are eager to welcome you, show you around and if you are lucky things begin to feel familiar, less foreign. You create a new home. In my own language I say, “I am happy I am here.” This has an almost literal meaning, but it also acknowledges the gratitude I have to those who have made space for me to experience happiness. Even in a pandemic, where these spaces have felt limited and oftentimes fleeting I am happy I am here.

In The Cold there is a lot of silence. I used to be scared of silence because I was afraid my mind would conjure up all the things I had neatly tucked away for when I have the time. Somehow the silence used to knock these things over and throw them to the forefront of my mind causing me to sink. I thought the silence was punishing me, but it wasn’t the silence or The Cold. The silence was only responding to my inner call for help, and I was refusing to listen.

I decided to listen, one day, and I heard. In the silence, in The Cold, I heard a voice tell me to slow down and make time for those things I had neatly tucked away. Because in fact, there was nothing neat about them. It was a mess that I had to deal with, or it would subsume me. If I dealt with the mess, would Home still be Home? Could this new place be my Home?

I am happy I am here, in this place right now. I am happy I am here, alone and exhausted. I am happy I am here, cold and hopeful. Hoping to one day return to the Home I have in my memories, embellished with rhinestones and laughter. Hoping for the stickiness that comes from being consciously stuck. Isn’t that what it all is? We all want to belong in our Home? Only The Cold could have taught me this because when it is not cold I am granted permission to forget. But in The Cold, we remember.