White Beach

Not too long ago I read somewhere (on one of the many things I read everyday on the Internet) that those who migrate to new countries, to new lives, are in a constant state of grief. Mourning for the people and things they left behind in their country of origin. For their previous life.

A part of me agreed with that.

I started wondering how big that part was. But then, a few days later we went to the beach.

 

And I found my answer there. Bathing under the foggy light of the noon, with the salpeter smudging my hair and my face I knew that If I hadn’t leave, I wouldn’t be there. I wouldn’t know the people sitting there with me. These photos wouldn’t be here. And this blog probably woulnd’t exist.

 

Change is not easy. Even sometimes when it’s for the better I have trouble seeing it. It keeps me awake at night and makes a knot in my stomach. But then, time does its job. This day at the beach (my White Beach) was great. It made me see things differently. And I think, somehow, the peace I was feeling comes throug these images…

I hope you have as many White Days as you need.

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