Being Home

I’ve lived in a lot of places. And the one thing they all have in common is that I arrived with the intention and knowledge that I would live in that place. Not so with my current locale. The crux of the immigration process is Limbo.

For so long I was here, but not really here. I was in a state of habitation, but not residence. I’ve long been a nomad, but I never felt more unsettled than when living in a place I wasn’t suppose to leave, without the knowledge of whether or not I could stay.


And then, with a swipe of a finger across my mobile device everything changed.

“Congratulations! You are now a permanent resident of Canada!”

When I read those words I could hear a chorus of party horns and imagined a cascade of red and white maple leaf confetti falling over me. I’m still in a state of shock that it finally happened. I can finally say I’m home here.

The relief is palatable, but like any yoke worn for a long time, after it’s removal, I can still feel it’s weight. There’s a remainder of energy that use to be anxiety that is now transforming back into inspiration for whatever comes next.

It’s an unexpected transformation. I didn’t expect to feel like I belong here now. I don’t have to have one foot on either side of the border now if I don’t want to.

I like when life offers unexpected twists and turns, and always look forward to new adventures. It makes me feel both lucky and blessed.

Published by Clarisa

Traveler, Writer, Cook, Mariner, Veteran

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