- Discuss your favorite place to get lost.
As I walk down the crowded street, in over one hundred degree temperature, I try to figure out where I am. All I can hear are the horns of numerous yellow taxis stuck in traffic and the vague sound of pedestrians talking. A gust of wind rolls by and brings an array of scents towards me, all of which remind me of home. I look around and notice an old spice shop with a sign resting on the door with the Arabic word for "spices" written on it. Continuing down the street, I take a look at the sky. There isn't a single cloud in sight, only the sun's rays beating down on my lost eyes.
Beneath my feet is a deteriorated sidewalk with sand filling every crack. Along the sidewalk is nothing but more of this sand; there is no trace of greenery. The only tree I see is at the end of the street in the center of a roundabout. I walk towards it in hopes of remembering where I am. To my dismay, I only discover more buildings. These buildings seem different though. I take a closer look and realize they are in fact houses. Balconies line the side of what seems like one long building with plants hanging down from their edges. This is the most green I've seen yet.
I start to pay closer attention to my surroundings and acknowledge the people walking past me. Their sheer presence put me at ease. The head dresses of the women and the long white shirts of the men are no surprise to me. It was all a part of my culture growing up; it is something I am used to. Everyone around me gives off an essence of kindness with their genuine smiles and warm looks of acceptance towards me. Deep down, my gut was telling me that this is my home.
How could this be my home? I do not even know where I am. My aimless wandering leads me to a small white house with a bed of red carnations to the side of it. I stare at it for a second, confused as to why I have urge to simply walk inside of it. Digging through my memory, I finally remember whose house this is. It's my own. Everything comes together now; I am in Syria and this is the house I grew up in as a baby. My instincts somehow led me to walk the path I walked on countless times as a child. As I take everything in, I realize I wasn't lost after all.
As I walk down the crowded street, in over one hundred degree temperature, I try to figure out where I am. All I can hear are the horns of numerous yellow taxis stuck in traffic and the vague sound of pedestrians talking. A gust of wind rolls by and brings an array of scents towards me, all of which remind me of home. I look around and notice an old spice shop with a sign resting on the door with the Arabic word for "spices" written on it. Continuing down the street, I take a look at the sky. There isn't a single cloud in sight, only the sun's rays beating down on my lost eyes.
Beneath my feet is a deteriorated sidewalk with sand filling every crack. Along the sidewalk is nothing but more of this sand; there is no trace of greenery. The only tree I see is at the end of the street in the center of a roundabout. I walk towards it in hopes of remembering where I am. To my dismay, I only discover more buildings. These buildings seem different though. I take a closer look and realize they are in fact houses. Balconies line the side of what seems like one long building with plants hanging down from their edges. This is the most green I've seen yet.
I start to pay closer attention to my surroundings and acknowledge the people walking past me. Their sheer presence put me at ease. The head dresses of the women and the long white shirts of the men are no surprise to me. It was all a part of my culture growing up; it is something I am used to. Everyone around me gives off an essence of kindness with their genuine smiles and warm looks of acceptance towards me. Deep down, my gut was telling me that this is my home.
How could this be my home? I do not even know where I am. My aimless wandering leads me to a small white house with a bed of red carnations to the side of it. I stare at it for a second, confused as to why I have urge to simply walk inside of it. Digging through my memory, I finally remember whose house this is. It's my own. Everything comes together now; I am in Syria and this is the house I grew up in as a baby. My instincts somehow led me to walk the path I walked on countless times as a child. As I take everything in, I realize I wasn't lost after all.
