All That You Can't Leave Behind?
It's gloomy outside. Hong Kong rests in a twilight of heavy cloud and misty cold. And I sit down again, and begin to write...
Maybe its partly because I'm bored; today is a slow day at the office... I've been given nothing to do.
Maybe its partly because I have to; there's been this itch pawing
at the back of my mind for months now; ideas purculating, words
forming, slowly.
There's plenty that I want to say. But not much of it wise. Not
much of it productive. Right now I just want to write - to remind
myself of what has gone before - to maybe unblock the gates so that my
words will flow again - to remind myself of what the future may hold,
when the clouds break again.
I sat with a friend in a restaurant last night, and he asked me a
question that I've been asked many times before: "out of all the places
you've lived, which is your favourite?". And I gave the answer that I
usually give: that that's a question I can't answer. That each place
holds something special to me; and that each is so different and
valuable that I can't choose.
I spoke of New Zealand, and its natural beauty and wilderness; I spoke of Hong Kong, and its vibrant life; and then, when it came to England, the first words that came to my lips were of it's countryside...
Getting off a train as night in falling, in a small country town - fresh out of London.
The roar of the train as it dashes away from the platform, and the
peace and quiet that settles as it leaves. And there you are, standing
on the platform, awash with a peculiarly domestic form of mystery, as a
few birds sing softly in the darkening trees.
Somewhere nearby is a quiet house with warm light spilling from its windows. A place with friends. A place full of welcome.
Around you is the deep, domesticated British countryside that falls about your senses like a cool feather duvet.
You smell the scent of wet earth, and leaves, and grass.
The air is clean, and cold, and moist.
And soon you will be ensconced in a home filled with warmth, light, maybe a fire.
It's a good feeling.
And it makes me realise that, again, I'm yearning for a home.
Another friend of mine prayed for me, last week, in the evening, in Hong Kong park. He prayed that I would find a home.
I didn't ask him. He knew.
I do.
But I don't know where I'll find one.
I've posted numerous postings on being a Third Culture Kid - on
how I live between these worlds, these countries, transient, my feet
never seeming to touch the ground in each before I'm off again. I've
talked about finding my home in this identity.
And I have. To some extent. But its a stop-gap.
I've also found my home in God... and in the hope of his Kingdom.
But in the darkness... in the darker times of your life... you need a comfort zone to return to.
And, as I caught a bus though the rain and the night yesterday, I realised that I had no comfort zone to return to anymore.
Usually you find your comfort zone where your family is. But my family is broken now...
It may mend in time, and I may be part of that process - and I
pray that it will happen... but until that happens, my family cannot be
my comfort zone.
It is a mission field. It is the place I feel least comfortable.
My comfort zone is not New Zealand - I don't belong there - and my future is not there.
Hong Kong and London both move so fast...
Beijing.
Who knows what I'll find there? My friend prayed that maybe I'd find a
home there. Maybe I will. God works in the strangest ways - and there
would be a poetic twist to finding my home in the place I spent my
first year - amongst a people not my own, but who have been intertwined
with my life since the beginning. To travel onwards to reach the
beginning again.
But I don't know. I'll find out in two weeks.
And love is not the easy thing
The only baggage that you can bring
Love is not the easy thing
The only baggage you can bring
Is all that you can't leave behind...
And if the darkness is to keep us apart
And if the daylight feels like it's a long way off
And if your glass heart should crack
And for a second you turn back
Oh no, be strong
Oh, oh
Walk on, walk on
What you got, they can't steal it
No, they can't even feel it
Walk on, walk on
Stay safe tonight
You're packing a suitcase for a place none of us has been
A place that has to be believed, to be seen
You could have flown away
A singing bird in an open cage
Who will only fly, only fly, for freedom
Oh, oh
Walk on, walk on
What you got, they can't deny it
Can't sell it, or buy it
Walk on, walk on
You stay safe tonight
And I know it aches
How your heart, it breaks
You can only take so much
Walk on...
Walk on...
Home...
Hard to know what it is, if you never had one
Home...
I can't say where it is, but I know I'm going
Home...
That's where the hurt is...
And I know it aches
And your heart, it breaks
And you can only take so much
Walk on...
- Walk On, U2 (All That You Can't Leave Behind)
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