Travels of the heart and soul. Musings of the mind.

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.

Man made fire.

I hate fire.

I hate it so much I have already prayed to God to spare me the nightmare of physically being touched by it in this life or the next. I hate it so much I have already asked Him to take me in my sleep when the time comes.

I am warming up to the little shit, however. Fire, I mean.

In moderation.

I found these tea light candles in one of the drawers in the kitchen last year and lit one of them up. I felt the flame purifying – the air around me, me.

It made me think of the different people in my life who had up to that point shone a light on parts of me I did not know I had or did not want to know I had.

Many parts of me I still do not want to know I have – and this fucking fire keeps burning.

Perhaps fire is actually meant to not make you burn.

Perhaps people are not actually meant to make you burn either.

September change.

Seasons change. You can smell their change in the smell of the outside air. August air smells differently from September air. September all of a sudden feels chilly, cool – its smells goes hand in hand with the rusty gust of wind that breezes through the trees and the auburn colour of the leaves in the trees outside my house.

September smells of tweed jackets and woolly scarves, white shirts and boyfriend jeans. It smells of this grey hair look I have been looking to get for a while and hot chocolate in the mornings. It smells of snuggles and kisses and of not wanting to get out of bed in the morning.

It smells of running towards my marathon in New York in November and of running away from what I am no longer interested in – and cannot bring myself to pretend I am.

“The Disconnect.”

I was walking home late on Friday evening several weeks ago when two four-legged silhouettes pouncing around the cars parked on the street caught my attention. They turned out to be foxes as I drew up closely – and I felt sorry that animals that otherwise belong in the depths of a forest were scavenging for food amidst houses, parked cars, busy streets their feet touching the modern-day cement.

News of animals in captivity or species on the brink of extinction at the back of my mind, I felt as though we were closing in on the habitat of all living creatures more than ever. And that we will continue to do so and stop only when we have placed their final specimens behind glass enclosures, admiring them as “unique” and “last ones standing” – just as we’re currently ogling at beautiful objects in window shops wanting to buy them.

A couple of days later I opened the fridge and got hit by a wall of medium, small, smaller boxes full of packaged food looking at me – and not one single item of loose greens in sight. Why does there have to be so little contact between us and the food we eat, I thought again: it’s almost like we don’t even want to see it on its way down to our stomachs.

A meme was circling the internet a couple of years ago – a visual of mankind throughout its history with Home Sapiens at the right-end of the development spectrum deciding to turn back – because “we fucked up everything”.

There is a disconnect between us, our own nature and the wider nature at the moment – how can we stop and fix this before we indeed fuck up everything and eat ourselves out of horse and home?

President Macron said it best, “There is no Planet B.”.