Safe distances

I used to think my hand was clenched because I was holding on to life. It neveroccurred to me thatI was gripping the very things that hurt me, afraid that if Iopened my hand, nothing would be left.

I came from a small village, carrying within me an entire life that had yet to unfold.My father would placewhatever money he could spare into my hand, and I wouldleave in his heart whatever reassurance Icould offer. Then I would return to myroom and calculate how many days I could postpone needing himagain. I neverknew I would do the same with love; live on so little, feel ashamed to ask for more,andbrace myself for the day it would run out.

I grew up postponing life until I could feel safe. I called my fear wisdom, my silencecontentment, andmy distance a safe place.

Yet something inside me kept resisting… Perhaps it was the part of me I was tryingto save, or perhapsit was the very part I had never stopped suffocating.