I’ve always loved seeing the sunset. Such a beautiful time of day. It’s so calming to me. The way the colors of the sky blend together. All the blues, reds, and yellows. It has been several weeks since mother asked me, pleaded me, to come with her to this wretched place just to look for Zawadi. I would have never thought it would have the most beautiful sunsets I’d ever seen.
This whole trip, my discomfort, my precious time away from my hobbies, I wanted to blame Zawadi for it. I now find that I can’t. When we first arrived, mother suggested that I give this place a chance. That already feels like so long ago. I didn’t want to. I was just so angry to be away from home. She tried to talk to me, to look around. “The snow-capped mountains, the forests, the plains, this land is just so diverse!”, Mother cried out to me. She advised that I take it all in and use it as inspiration for my paintings or writings when I come back home. After a few days here I began to heed her advice and actually began to look at the world around me. It has been quite the opportunity, if I’m being honest. So many ideas are floating through my head, now. More than I’ve had for a very long time. It seems the land itself has become my muse. Like the stubborn child that I am, I didn’t want to listen. Sometimes, I thought that she could not understand me. It appears she knows me better than I’d ever given her credit for. Mother already knew that I would enjoy it and I would get something out of it. That it would improve and help what I love to do. The old woman is very perceptive. Frighteningly so.
Mother told me all these things from the very beginning, and it appears she was right, once again. I hate it when she does that...
