Week 14-15: The Weight of the World Defeated by Carbs

2–4 minutes

Dear you,

These past two weeks have been quiet. So quiet that sometimes I feel like I’m the only person left in the world. The only things I hear are the sounds of nature and the constant hum of my own thoughts. I no longer feel the need to share my day. I just want to work on myself and be by myself, because I don’t want to let me down.

I’ve always wondered how, in movies, someone visits their family or friends after years apart and suddenly learns their parents have picked up random hobbies, or their best friend is pregnant, or someone has changed careers, and the main character never even knew. I used to wonder how that was possible, but now I understand. It isn’t something negative or intentional. It’s the art of solitude and flow. Something I’ve been learning in this in-between stage of life. Solitude: the mindful practice of being alone. Flow: the effortless movement of life, of existing without forcing anything. Together, they make you forget your reality and responsibilities. It’s just you, alone with the universe.

Practicing that solitude and flow here in Colombia, I notice things more than I used to. Horses grazing on the roadside, the warmth in a stray dog’s eyes, the flash of vibrant colours on birds. Even the insects, strange, loud, and larger than anything I’m used to back in Canada, remind me how alive this place is. But along with the beauty comes the ache: an elderly man hauling heavy loads under the sun, the rough shape of a horse’s ribs, the hole in a child’s shoes. The world presents both the breathtaking and the heartbreaking side by side, as if they belong to each other. And maybe they do. You can’t have the sun without the moon, day without night, yang without yin.

It’s strange to think about how a world so beautiful can also be so ugly, and how much of that ugliness is man-made. Sometimes it’s really bad, even evil, like what we see on those tiny glowing screens. And yet, in the middle of it, I’m here in Cali, walking the city streets, looking out the window, tasting new foods, feeling the rhythm of Spanish music in my ears. In these moments, the heaviness doesn’t vanish, but it loosens its grip just enough to breathe.

What has helped is trying new things. I’ve tried pandebono, a round bread with cheese baked into the middle, both sweet and salty. Buñuelos, soft and golden, like plain Timbits back home. Pandeyuca is chewy and comforting in its own way. Writing this, I realize food can be its own little refuge, carbs giving us a positive emotion, softening the sharp edges of the world. And when I go out walking or boxing, burning some of them off, I let myself sink into my new favourite Spanish songs, and I feel joy return. Music in another language doesn’t just fill the air; it shifts something inside me. It feels like flow.

Maybe that’s the secret: noticing. Tasting. Listening. Allowing. Even if only for a minute, those little moments of solitude make the weight of the world feel lighter.

From,
Cali