English adaptation of the original post: Aves Migrantes volviendo a casa

Ode to the Migrating birds who have moved from the comfort of home for multiple searches and have had the courage to build up a new nest, made of flesh, soul and bones.

What are we talking about when we long for Home?

Is Home even a place?

Are we longing for a physical place or are we really longing for a collection of memories that got stored somewhere in the depths of our being?

Is home a collection of voices and -at the time unknown- familiar sounds that I grew up to?

Home is here, and anywhere I happen to be

The skin that dresses me

She who lives staining herself in foregein languages, new flavours, new climate – sometimes seemlesly small and invisible among the crowds but always witnessing the crowds

Seeding the known comfort within the self and outside home

She who infects the room where has never been before with pr(esence), filled with multiple identities and simultaneously empty in it’s own existence experiencing an unknown Universe, where the mistery is always vaster than any predictability

She who makes home whilst using language, reflecting and giving live to all the worlds where it belongs to

Who suddlenly forgets who she is to re-write who she is all over again and decides to live in this way, forgetting and remembering

She who is lucid without even noticing and is living inside some of the most profound dreams and aspirations that could ever imagine

Becoming -maybe also without knowing- a walking creature that has turned into an embodiment of home by choice

The one that makes home out of any place his feet happen to kiss

Could you ever consider to walk away from home?

Love you always home and I wish you always feel welcome, comfy and open enough to go back anytime

Even when you decide to keep walking away from home

Agenda Caracas