Miami

I love Miami. The oven heat that integrates me and squeezes sweat out of my pores. The green of the piss warm ocean, dotted by algae brought from far away. The sun burned tourists speaking every imaginable language on the face of the Earth. The pretty girls and their colorful bikinis. The jocks and their muscles. The Cuban food served in Art Deco restaurants. The general small beach town feel. I recognize the green of the tropical plants. I belong here, just like I belonged in those endless summer vacations, in Grandma's village. The same smell of day dreaming mixed with boredom, mixed with silence, mixed with plans for a lifetime, mixed with nature.
The first time I came to Miami, I was just out of college. It was a graduation gift from my parents who came along. That was the time when I told my mother about the abuse. She pretended she didn't know about it, although I clearly remember her making references to it throughout my childhood.
The second time I visited Miami, I broke up with a lover. He was a man with one big ego and many small insecurities. I take pride in having refused to sleep with him at our break up.
The third time around in Miami, I was turning 30. I was in the middle of the most depressing, gut churning life crisis. I was coming to terms with the past abuse. I was trying to make sense of my new life and new found truths. I was lost and I slept a lot. My best friend at the time was with me and nursed me like a mother throughout my depression. There wasn't a lot of talking, but all I needed was silence and a presence. I couldn't move. I was like a recovering cancer patient. Every part of my body hurt and my mind was a mine field. I couldn't trust my own thoughts.
I am now in Miami. The heat is still oven like. The nature still smells like vacation and I still give in to making life long plans and I apply myself at being lazy on the beach. Only this time around I am functional. I got together with a dear friend who now lives in Florida. I made some new friends. I even recognized happiness in my thoughts. There still is sadness in me. There still are anger and desperation, but among all these negative feelings, I could see the glimmer of hope. It's as if spears of light pierce through the cracked shell of my old self. I came a long way, but I still wonder if my healing will ever be complete and most of all how will I know, when I'm healed? Will it be like a revelation or a complete turn around? Will it be a state of mind?