That girl with two suitcases

It was eight years ago this Saturday when I packed up two suitcases and headed for something unknown.  New York was my freedom, a playground for the curious.  When I stepped on that plane in the sleepy Winnipeg airport, I never looked back.

I did not stay in the city, as there was another place that had bigger things for me.  But today, I am back to say hello once again.  I am of course, much older, hopefully wiser.  The visit to the city has allowed me to see where I had grown, and where I need to keep going.  It also reminded me of a time when I was more fearless, ready to jump without a thought.  I saw every colour and shine even when there were very little of it.

Now, I am rougher as I carry the wounds of growing up: heartaches, failures, loss.  My eyes, though still wide, are no longer filled with wonderment but of wariness.  More cautious than fearless, and no longer in awe of colours and shine the same way.

So before I leave the crisp, autumn air of New York, I shall bring back with me not of souvenirs that collect dust, but a little bit of that girl with two suitcases who never looked back.  And the pieces of me that had long been forgotten.

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