Boats in Barranquilla

To be a stranger in your own land

An unfamiliar face in your own mirror

To stumble in your own footsteps

And strain to squeeze into the skin you thought was yours

To be lost but to not even realise it because you know not even where you are supposed to be but equally

To see your home town with fresh eyes each time you return

To recognise that the masks we all wear are fleeting & temporal and in time will be cast aside anyway

To make a new path that circumvents the toils you would otherwise have set before yourself

& to clothe yourself only in the body of your truth that is more than skin deep

To be only where you are in each moment and call that your home free of any notion of “should” or “oughts”

To belong only in the here and now (for now + here = nowhere)

To be only what you are in each moment but to be it fully and without reserve

To be free of the burden of expectation

And clear of the limitations which we oppose upon ourselves

I am without home, I am without face, I am without name

But I am.


Freeborn Aiden. Failed musician turned adventurer and writer. Breaker of a thousand hearts and father to as many illegitimate children. Can say "Fuck Off" in 5 languages but tends to stick to English. Has a surly unemployable face. Loves cats, mountains, Daal Bhat and travels with a hair dryer. Approach with caution.

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