The house is quiet this afternoon, the only real sounds the soft hum of the fridge and the rain tapping against the windowpane. My youngest is napping, his little chest rising and falling in that steady rhythm that still makes my own heart feel settled. I’m sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea, the one my neighbour Elena gave me last Christmas. It’s a beautiful, sturdy mug, painted with a blue floral pattern that she said reminds her of home.
We were over at her house for a barbecue last summer, and her dad was visiting. He didn’t speak much English, but he had the kindest eyes I’d ever seen. He showed my son how to perfectly toast a marshmallow, his hands moving with a slow, gentle patience. Elena translated his stories for us, stories of a childhood in a village I couldn't place on a map, with winters that sounded colder than our own and festivals that sounded warmer.
She told me once, laughing over the fence while we were both weeding our gardens, that her heart lives in two places at once. One foot is planted firmly here, in the life she’s built, in the school drop-off line and the local grocery store. The other is still wandering the streets of her childhood, in a place that used to feel a world away. For her, the distance between Romania - Canadá isn't a line on a globe; it’s a quiet hum in her own chest, a story she carries every day.
It’s funny how knowing someone can completely redraw the world for you. Before, Romania was just a name, a shape in a book. Now, it has a face. It has the taste of the sweet bread Elena brings over sometimes, still warm from her oven. It has the sound of her father’s gentle voice, a language I don’t understand but a kindness I do.
Our children play together, their shouts and laughter mixing in the backyard. They don't know about maps or borders. They just know the joy of a shared secret or a well-kicked ball. They are building their own little bridge, right here on the grass between our houses. 🏡
I look down at the tea swirling in my cup. It makes you think about all the invisible lines that connect us, the stories that travel thousands of miles to land softly in a neighbour’s kitchen. The world feels so big, and then sometimes, it feels as small and as warm as a shared cup of tea.
What places have come to feel like home to you, just by knowing someone?
We were over at her house for a barbecue last summer, and her dad was visiting. He didn’t speak much English, but he had the kindest eyes I’d ever seen. He showed my son how to perfectly toast a marshmallow, his hands moving with a slow, gentle patience. Elena translated his stories for us, stories of a childhood in a village I couldn't place on a map, with winters that sounded colder than our own and festivals that sounded warmer.
She told me once, laughing over the fence while we were both weeding our gardens, that her heart lives in two places at once. One foot is planted firmly here, in the life she’s built, in the school drop-off line and the local grocery store. The other is still wandering the streets of her childhood, in a place that used to feel a world away. For her, the distance between Romania - Canadá isn't a line on a globe; it’s a quiet hum in her own chest, a story she carries every day.
It’s funny how knowing someone can completely redraw the world for you. Before, Romania was just a name, a shape in a book. Now, it has a face. It has the taste of the sweet bread Elena brings over sometimes, still warm from her oven. It has the sound of her father’s gentle voice, a language I don’t understand but a kindness I do.
Our children play together, their shouts and laughter mixing in the backyard. They don't know about maps or borders. They just know the joy of a shared secret or a well-kicked ball. They are building their own little bridge, right here on the grass between our houses. 🏡
I look down at the tea swirling in my cup. It makes you think about all the invisible lines that connect us, the stories that travel thousands of miles to land softly in a neighbour’s kitchen. The world feels so big, and then sometimes, it feels as small and as warm as a shared cup of tea.
What places have come to feel like home to you, just by knowing someone?
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