To Have No Roots
A Return To Innocence
All of Life is Foreign Country — Jack Kerouac
My soul is from elsewhere, I am sure of that and I intend to end up there — Jalaluddin Rumi
Every dreamer knows that it is entirely possible to be homesick for a place you’ve never been to, perhaps more homesick than for familiar ground — Judith Thurman
I have been on the road all my life. I call the suitcase my wardrobe and the trains, planes and cars I have travelled in my temporary accommodation. So, it did not surprise me when a close friend once asked me : “isn’t it time you bought a house of your own?” He then smiled and answered his own question by asking another question: you don’t have any roots, do you?
I was speechless with fear because he was right. Like the water that conforms to the vessel it is in, I have been at home in many cultures. Along the way, I have known only two types of humans : good and bad.
My friend then described his home as a fireplace that is always lit on a cold winter night and a tree that always gives shade in the summer. He asked me to imagine a pet that shakes off the wetness…
