No matter how many times I do this, no matter how adaptable I may be, no matter how I much I look forward to quiet time alone, the start is always the same, every time.
The silence and stale air as you step into the door of some old building. The weariness of having to unpack freshly packed bags. The inconvenience of missing basic household items (eg. handwash). To fill the empty fridge and pantry, or buy take-out? The long corridors and dark neighbourhood ever so unfamiliar, and sometimes just plain scary.
The utter sense of emptiness and aloneness in a new town or city. The nagging voice at the back of your mind – “how many real friends do you have when all you do is float in and out of people’s lives?” and “does your family even know (or care) where you are now?” I know I chose to come and go, but I hate this feeling.
Yet, even if I don’t always feel it, I know you hold my hand however far away I fly. Your grace like gentle snowflakes touches everything I do.
“If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me.” – Psalm 139:10
因祢与我同行 (Because You Walk With Me)
经风暴 过黑夜 度阡陌 越洋海