I thought the sea would separate me from everything… from the pain, from the shadow, from the little girl who never found an embrace.
But when I crossed, I discovered that I carried them all inside my chest. I did not leave them behind. Exile does not begin with geography… but within.
I was breathing in countries that did not resemble me. Clean streets… and my heart crowded.
Voices I did not understand… resembling an old noise in my head.
Whenever someone laughed, I felt that I had forgotten how my own voice sounded when I laughed.
Whenever someone came close to me… I withdrew inside.
I walked through markets, people passing by, carrying bags, stories, appointments…
And I was carrying something unseen. A pain with no language.
As if I were a ghost among the living.
At night, I opened the windows and saw nothing but darkness.
I tried to hear the sea from afar… but it was not here.
Only silence, and a window that overlooked nothing.
I no longer searched for the shadow… but I searched for myself after I almost lost her.
I am not as strong as they thought.
But I resisted… with my heart, with my words, with my children whom I tried not to let see this sadness that lived under my skin.
Exile did not extinguish the shadow.
…to be continued.