Thanks to my curiosity and the many diverse cultural experiences I have found myself in, I often find myself weaving in and out of spaces. Sometimes it seems the most honest path for me, to wear this lens, and then that lens, and then to have a space to throw out all the staleness and simply say- I don’t know, or I don’t know yet; I will come to this later.
That space for questioning and reinventing has become one of my most prized and most intimate sacred spaces. A place where I say I think I know this, but there is a part of me that thinks I may be wrong. A space where you will come home (however you define it) only as your own conscious decision.
In retrospect, one of the things I am grateful for about moving to Canada is exactly that- the gift of a space where things did not have to be rigidly defined.
A space where you weren’t pressurized to choose one of two Gods so you wouldn’t go to hell, a space where you didn’t have to know who you wanted to be in future, a space where good girls got drunk and smart hardworking boys smoked weed, where pregnancy was something to celebrate even for a to-be single mum, a place where you didn’t have to be married by a certain age and where atheists were kind and you wondered if it was true they worshipped the devil.
Moving away from home helped me to realize that we are all human, and just trying to figure this thing called life out, that mistakes don’t have to define us, that we can be open about the spaces where we question and we don’t know.
Sometimes it is quite scary not knowing exactly where this line of thinking or being or doing will take me, and what it will do the neatly arranged vases on my figurative shelf to be rearranged and ‘disorganized’. Sometimes I wonder how many rebirths I will have. But when it seems the most authentic expression of myself I must claim my sacred space of ‘I don’t know’ and have the courage to hold onto it for as long as it takes to be honest with myself.