A life abroad is built one piece at a time

What it takes to hold a life made of many places.

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I have been really off all social networks lately. The reason is, I am dealing in my heart with something so complex it is almost impossible to explain with words, because it also contains smells, light and noises. I try often to photograph it but nothing quite comes close to what I aim to express. I am still trying though.

The thing is, I am still rearranging all the pieces that make me who I am. Some important ones are missing. They got lost in a field, among olive trees, and I think they actually belong there best. I like to imagine them covered in wild lavender, and maybe when it’s hot a salamander chooses to sunbathe on their surface.

Other pieces I make myself, with whatever I can. And sometimes I find them whole, in unexpected places: under the pillowcase of my daughter, as I learnt German lullabies. Among the pile of fallen hair during postpartum, there I found a very important one - the one that is actually sustaining the majority of those I added next.

It is not easy, this sort of personal Jenga tower. It contains words in different languages, family lore, the deep white light of Spanish midday, the smell of my grandmother’s kitchen, the touch of my partner’s hands on mine, a few new friendships here and there, a dream — a need — to be an artist, my camera, a few Lego toys from my daughter. It goes on and on. The tower seems kind of stable, but it can quickly feel shaky depending on chance, choices, and well, life.

I have been focusing on keeping it standing. It is a full-time job, and mine has this special feature of holding pieces from many places in the world, so they sometimes won’t fit and it takes a while to find them a good spot. Other times, this diversity is a clear advantage. The tower feels rich, colorful, messy in a fun, unique way. It makes me proud, but I don’t say that enough.

Often I go back to the Key Pieces. There’s one that is so big and important and shiny and beautiful, but also so damn heavy. I wonder to myself: if I had been able to choose a lighter one — if I could be happy without being an artist — maybe I’d have room for other pieces around it, for stability. But I do truly love that piece. I sense it has such deep potential. It is translucent, a deep blue almost black, and it is hard to look inside, and it makes me so curious to discover what’s in there. I know that’s a life’s work.

Then there’s another heavy one, and this one makes me a bit sad, because it smells like home in the south of Spain and shines the same way. It’s warm, and pleasant, and messy and beautiful, and it has so much energy that sometimes I cry if I spend too long around it.

The pieces that sound in German are large too, a bit dark and mossy. Sometimes I wish they weren’t there. I blame myself, I second-guess, until I remember: I wasn’t looking for them when I found them. They just came to me, full of opportunity, exciting new shapes and colors. I didn’t have many pieces like that before, and I wanted them so badly. They brought a lot of good.

Lately the tower has been shaking a bit, as I felt homesick once more, seeing my daughter grow and having a living proof of the past of time. How Family and places grows old too, and life goes on.

We are all building our Jenga towers the best we can. I will be okay, I think. Maybe the shaking is just what it feels like to hold something this alive.