where I come from

When I was about seven years old (maybe younger maybe older)

the village where I was born

disappeared under a grey, boiling mixture of volcanic ashes and mud

I wasn't there

but ever since I have used that story to explain to myself my feelings of not belonging...

this kind of displacement of the soul

I have been a nomad since I was two years old

divided between two forces...

the desire to fit in and having long friendships as old as myself

and the necessity of being in constant movement

being a gypsy like one of my great-grandmothers

That's why when someone asks me where I am from

I always answer with a riddle...

a net of comes and goes connecting different cities and houses

leaving a lot of loose ends

I have never felt a connection with a particular territory

every little town, every city where I lived is part of my personal mapamundi

but although I am not sure of where I am from

I have always know from where I come from

I was dreamed and nested at my mother's womb...

I came to this world wrapped in her red tissue

my first dreams were lulled by

the music of the blood rushing through her veins

and the beat of her heart 

It didn't matter where I was

How far or how lost I was

how many oceans I had to cross

I always knew where my motherland was

This week my mom felt ill

I don't know what is going to happen

I only know two things

that love and life are built every little day

and that I will always know from where I come from