Floating

It is curious how in Mandarin, moving away from home for better opportunities can be described as floating to another place. "Floating" here describes the erratic movement of a feather swept by the winds, going whether the wind takes it, landing whether the wind subsides. "Floating" like a floatsam across the sea, wherever the currents take it.

Perhaps, humans too float to places of opportunity. Unlike the purposeful and hopeful "looking for greener pastures", "floating" is uncalled for, it is done against our will. That it is circumstances that led to the moving away from home. That unfulfilled promises, the underappreciated lives, the frustration of the limitations placed upon potential and achievements led to the irrevocable break from home.

The wind blows, blows them wherever opportunities are. The gusts of a growing economy, the rise of foul winds from the darkest of humanities. There is a living to be earned, there is a dream to be pursued. The current drives, driving the bits and pieces of us onto shores unknown, to isolated islands of abundance or sheer deserts of disappointments.

Each wonder, what is there in store for them across the shores? Their daily lives will be different, the strand of their feathers changes and changes, somes perhaps grow stronger and lushious, but others perhaps grow brittle, bitter and shattered. It can be the slow decay of each fibre in their soul, or the strengtheing of each vein in the blood. Life may grow better, new friends and new realities that allow them to plant roots in those fertile islands. For others perhaps a hellhole, a place where the blue sky is only a penny wide in the wrathful clouds, or a gloomy and depressed dullness that pervades the empty land, where nothing grows, where the soul shrivels.

But the wind will rise again, the seas will roar again, bringing them to other lands, whether wanted or unwanted. Those feathers may fray and split, the core splinters and break, leaving nothing but a barely visible strand in the sands, buffeted and trashed, dreams shattered and killed by the sighs of disappointments and missed opportunities. Or those feathers may fly mightily with the air, going forth confidently to the next lands it will conquer.

They will rise above and shine, reaching to the clouds and sparkling with the stars. All will be in awe. Yet I somehow believe, amidst that glitz and glamour, some part of it will think of where it came from. Some part of it wonder, what if they stayed, what if the winds did not drive them away when they didn't want to?