When I think of a place somewhere, I think of some place where my soul's longing resides. A place where my spirit feels at home. A place I can see myself returning over and over and over again. A place I yearn for that is my Po-lin, my place of 'to rest here'. The Portuguese have a word for such a yearning - saudade - a deep emotional state of nostalgic or profound melancholic longing for an absent something or someone that one cares for and/or loves. This place, my soul's home, is a spiritual home. I have, after all, been told I have had 9 other lives here. White and blue...blue and white...funnily enough are the only colours I have ever loved. Ironically, they are her colours too. I have ever only been as far up and as close to her 'arm -pit'. I dream of one day making my way up to her northern most arm. I know I will. It is unexplainable this feeling - this nostalgia for such place. Darkness, cold, snow, alabaster white. Stillness, quiet, wide open spaces. A place where the milky way suffuses the region and lights dance and adorn her night sky. Where would I have known such longing having been born in a place far removed? This is my place. My somewhere. My somewhere place. My place somewhere that has my heart, that has my love, that has my longing. My saudade place.
Lorraine Michael has a passion for the written and spoken word and human stories.
