FERN

There's a fern hanging by my TV—suspended by thin ropes, the breeze from the window across keeps it swaying like a little green pendulum. I watch it every morning as I sip on my morning coffee and I have started to think we understand each other.

Most plants announce their changes—leaves falling, colors changing, dramatic seasonal displays, like a toddler throwing temper tantrums. But ferns are quiet, more subtle about transformation. They change in ways only they can feel, growing stronger or more fragile without fanfare. I recognize this in me now—if my one year ago self met my current self they would barely recognize each other yet the shifts were more internal. Maybe some external shifts also like losing weight and changing my hair color. But the internal shifts —drastic— yet I'm the only one who knows their depths.

This summer I returned to the Egyptian coast, it has been my refuge for years. Every single summer of my life I have plunged into those blue Mediterranean waters without hesitation. This time, I lathered tanning oil on my body and layed there for hours on end, watching the waves as they hug the shore then retreat again—never getting bored. I couldn't name what kept me from the water but some internal tide had shifted and I found myself more content to be a witness than participant. 

It's like I couldn't even get myself to touch the water, it confused me quite a bit honestly, a polar opposite reaction, usually I would stay in the water till the guard called me out–he knew me specifically cause of how long I stayed, this year not even a drop touched my skin...couldn't even bare feeling it touch my feet.

My apartment has become a sanctuary, the weekend comes along with a trip to the airport to pick up my brother and his friends who have become mine as well —a little family— the space fills with laughter and chaos, playing nintendo and oculus games for hours on end...for the duration of the weekend it feels like we're school kids again having a weekend long slumber party. Its like we collapse back into childhood for the weekend, sprawled on the couch and the floor like teenagers. Then the weekend ends and that flight takes them back and leaves me with my fern. The quiet settles back, me , my fern and a few medicine and psychotherapy books. The fern and I learn how to grow in stillness, the fern doesn't need the chaos to thrive and neither do I. 

Maybe I'll go to them next weekend for a change...