There are places in this world that resonate with who I am.
That is a hell of a profound thing to say.
The countryside I grew up in resonates with who I am, perhaps because it is where I was made. The greyish buildings in the old part of Edinburgh covered in the morning mist resonate with me, as did the cup of hot chocolate I had at the hotel while the fire was crackling in the fireplace.
There are the beaches of Lindos, of Rhodes, of Capri and of my home country with shellfish sands and heart-warming sun and brownish tans.
There are the cold days and mornings of Scandinavia, which I never expected to fall in love with but apparently hibernation agrees with me.
There are places I sense resonate with me as well. I get the sense I will love Cuba and Argentina, Morocco, and the Middle East when the time comes for me to visit them.
There is my home country, which is in my bones, which resonates with me.
There is New York. My heart is there at the moment and I am afraid it wants to never come back. I feel disjointed as a result.