Nine months ago I opened the door of my wardrobe
When I realize, I was in a new land, in aplace sorrounded by different languages, cultures, faces.
Unknown faces that suddenly became familiar, part of my life here, friends.
Time went by and these friends were suddenly gone too, to different parts of the world. Some of them took the same wardrobe door I came from, ending up in my world, I heard later.
I was left here, to explore the new land. With me only a friend, who came by the same door as me.
In this new land I found a new language, a weird melody, that made, at first, no sense at all to me. I found a different way of living. I found out, amazed, that it is possible to have dinner without rice and beans. In this land you take your shoes before getting inside, you make a big effort to make friends, the relationships are not built in the way I'm used to.
I got myself in a land of quietness, beautiful landscapes, everlasting winter (cold weather, cold faces).
In this new land, people have everything they need (and want) and life becomes easier, but, I can't explain why, for many, without joy.
In this new land I met for the first time with a very white and cold stuff that comes from heaven, snow, they said to me.
I found a new way of working and a different way od living a Christian life.
With time, I learned to like the life here, I learned to enjoy the silence, grow with it, hear to God and to my interior voice. I learned to face challenges, became stronger.
When I was finally getting used to the life in this cold land and understanding better the weird melody, I heard the calling: We're coming back to the first friends we met here. They found their door back home, and it was just wonderful to be togheter again.
I heard rumors that it won't last long. In june, a new door to my place will open and I'll be sent back. Finally things and life the way I'm used to. Things won't be the same again. I'll always look for a door to be back. Maybe I'll, maybe I won't. But one thing I'm sure of: I'll never be the same again.
