I used to share a secret bond with earth when I was a child and in my teenage years. Did you?
I remember on my way to home in the dark, a sudden wind would sweep up, brush my face, blow my hair, dare me to walk against it. ‘There you are’ the earth would whisper, and it would be our little secret in the moonlight, me and the beautiful magical earth. Miyazaki’s movies always remind me of those times. And the sunsets I vividly remember: Many shades of red as the day slowly turned into night setting our living room afire, like a guest putting everything else in shade with its presence yet making everything in the room come alive. I remember summers, swimming as the vast full moon was rising from the Mediterranean, the world felt so welcoming and festive, one couldn’t help but feel special. Then there is that strange night at my aunt’s village, when a few of us walked past a cemetery in the moonlight, my little heart was beating so fast with fear I kept looking up to the open sky lit with numerous stars; safe, magical, mine, ours. I recall these moments, for they were only moments in a life filled with family, friends, classes, reluctant obedience, obligations, and mundane chores. In those moments it felt like an incredible treat to be alive.
There was a secret union between us, earth and I. The earth shared its delights celebrating me in the process. Whatever happened to it? Whenever I visit National parks of America, particularly Hawaii, and Alaska, where nature dominates, and it is so breathtakingly beautiful and alive, I’m in awe, truly. But that union is missing, I feel like an outsider looking in, appreciating from afar, like looking at pieces of art in a museum, and the wind is just the wind, no challenge or whisper directed at me. When did I get so separated from life? Have I disappeared from earth’s notice? Do all adults feel this way? Do you?
