A Place Called Home
There lies a place etched in the not-so-far recesses of my mind, where impactful moments and important things reside and collide.
I know of a place birthed by strength and determination and conquered by sheer will. A place prepared by men and truly cultivated, by women. A place of brutal, unsolicited, honesty, that left no room for the pretense of ignorance. A place that highlighted your notable traits and distinctive qualities and made known your areas of deficiencies.
A place of sometimes rough and unsparing treatment, that gave rise to a belief in exceptionalism and the notion that one could do anything, so long as and the determination to obtain the desire of one's focus existed. In this place, nothing is taken for granted and almost everything is utilized. People are appreciative, and acts of kindness is met with a sort of gratefulness, rarely seen.
This is a place where life was fully expressed, and the joy of being alive was openly demonstrated. A place of hard work, and manual labor, that promoted a sense of self-reliance. A place where seasons of lack existed and moments of abundance were fleeting. A place of brilliance, and a people of resilience.
A place where the rain didn’t always fall gently and the wind wasn't always at your back. With moments in time when the sun didn’t just shine down, but shed light on things that ought to have remained hidden. A place of righteousness and devilishness, and of every conceivable and inconceivable act known to man.
Though this place was neither ideal nor idyllic, and was littered with flaws and fallibilities, this place was, and is, the destination of my Genesis. This is the place I call Home, and still go to, whenever I close my eyes to sleep.
#22 Belair West, Coast, Berbice, Guyana.