A glimpse of something else

by Benedict Lombe

Somewhere along the line, this seems to have become a shorthand for “Who are you? How do you see the world? What makes you tick?” And given the few short seconds we’ve come to accept as adequate time to form a first impression, we’ll opt for stating our professions first. It’s quick. Easy. Familiar.

But maybe, this time, you don’t.
Maybe, this time, you try something else out. 
Maybe, this time when they ask “What do you do?” you take a moment to respond.

“I’m a wanderer,” you attempt.
“A child of the diaspora,” you expand.
“A storyteller,” you eventually land on, with the briefest of smiles. 

And maybe if they’re looking - really looking - they’ll glimpse something else beyond that smile. And maybe, this time, they’ll respond with -
Silence?
Oh. It stretches out. You start to second guess yourself. Was that too vague? Too pretentious? Too whimsical.

But then, maybe, you notice there’s encouragement in it. Curiosity. Room to keep going, to fill in the picture.

And in the silence, it comes to you. You are a wanderer, a child of the diaspora, a storyteller; you keep ideas in motion. Ideas of future, of past, of present - never linear but always moving, shifting, transforming. Every day, you’re weaving stories together, in pursuit of something new - connection, meaning, hope. 

Coming from a family, or a community, or a people who have been displaced, who have had to migrate to different lands for many reasons, you have a unique relationship with movement. Not just literal movement, or those familiar narratives of yearning for a place to call home - but the essence of movement. Movement that is an integral part of who you are and how you navigate through the world. Movement that is in your DNA. 

You are weaving, threading, and pulling together thoughts, memories and worlds to create connections in new places. You are reaching out with both hands to plant new seeds elsewhere, whilst being anchored by the knowledge of your history. And if it’s a history you have yet to know, then you still feel it. Because it’s a history that runs in your blood. 

It’s undeniably transformative, propelled by a truth that moves through time and space, refusing to be ignored, to stay hidden, to remain untold. And as it travels through time and space to meet you where you are in the present, it moves into the light. And as it moves into the light, it begins to take on a different form. 

Because it has now been shaped by your unique experience of the world. It’s been given new angles, new sides, new energy. It dances to a new beat - a fusion of past rhythms and present flows. It has light and darkness. It is magnificent in its power. It is yours, and theirs, and in the telling of it, becomes ours.

So when they ask “What do you do?” you take a moment to respond.
“A wanderer,” you attempt.
“A child of the diaspora,” you expand.
“A storyteller,” you eventually land on, with the briefest of smiles. 

And maybe, if they’re looking - really looking - they’ll glimpse something else beyond that smile.