I take a step and the ground beneath crumbles into rubble and falls, pebbles bash repeatedly against the rocks like bouncy balls until they reach their end. Down below, a river gushes angrily, lashing against anything that has the ill-luck to come in its way. Storm clouds are gathered above it. Typical change!
When I look into the distance, these turbulent waters meet the sea and find solace. The waters in the distance are blue and tranquil. They’ve found their rhythm, their new routine.
I know if I fall, I just have to keep afloat until I reach the calm seas. But the initial turbulence scares me. There is so much about me that will change and yet nothing will. My nationality will get a new ‘an’. A move to a new country, a new continent beckons. I will be uprooted yet again. I will unlearn and learn yet again.
Why did I come this far, all the way to the edge? I remember someone pushing me out of my box of comfort. When I look back, I see myself. A version of myself who wished for something to happen, who wished for a break from routine.
There are moments of extreme excitement but once they pass, all I want is to run back into the comfortable bosom of status quo.
I have to decide. It’s now or never. Stop fidgeting and jump. “Take the leap,” my brain urges. The heart however, wants to run back, get the piece of myself I left in that box. But there’s no time for that. Everything around me is crumbling fast. Change is the only constant.
To muster courage, I take deep breaths and roll my shoulders. But really, I’m doing everything I can to delay the jump. I hear a low tinkling, like a wind chime in a salubrious breeze. It’s a little green glass bottle with a cork stopper. It looks like it came straight out of a medieval apothecary. It’s lying flat on the ground near my feet.
The label on it reads ‘Liquid Strength’ in beautiful cursive handwriting. I peek into the contents of the bottle. In the dancing green potion, I see the darling faces of my family, my very own brew of liquid strength.