I haven’t written in a long time. Like, a long time. And I don’t mean I haven’t written ‘a blog’ in a long time. I haven’t written at all in a long time.

Honestly, I’ve just been too fed up. Too sad. Too frustrated. In truth, too depressed.

The weight of the world sits heavy on my shoulders right now.





It’s hard to know when it all started. Or if it will end.

Theresa May . . . Labour Party . . . RNC . . . ‘Brexit’ . . . Jo Cox . . . Orlando . . . Istanbul . . . Baghdad . . . Nice . . . Philando Castile . . . Alton Sterling . . . Baton Rouge . . . Dallas . . . Guantanamo Bay . . . Drones . . .

It’s not so simple as a big bang wham bam there she is black dog mean reds sit on your head event, is it?

No, this sadness that is the world we now live in has been a long time coming. I’ve been feeling it building for a while. Watching – and then not watching – the ‘news’ on television. Reading articles. Monitoring Twitter. Perusing comments on Facebook.

I knew it was there. I could sense it.

Distrust. Greed. Me vs You. Hate.

Building. Building. Building.

I felt powerless. I still do.

What on earth can I do to change what I see around me?

The man asked if I want to go back to Alabama. If I want to join the ‘cause’, whatever that might be.

Do I?

I don’t even know how to find the ‘cause’ to join.

Where do I even start?

And if I do start, do I have to start knowing that doing so will alienate me. That taking an active stance will mean that some friends – and indeed family – will feel attacked, betrayed, outed. That becoming an active participant in a ‘cause’ I’ve yet to see fully defined will leave me feeling more alone than I do even up here on a hill in the middle of Snowdonian nowhere.

And what of here? What of the country not of my birth but of my own choosing?

I’m not naïve. I know there is hate everywhere. I know that the UK is deeply divided. But, in my own hopefulness, I allowed myself to believe that certain things couldn’t, wouldn’t happen here. I allowed myself to assume that a young, bright, loving Parliamentarian would not be stabbed and gunned down while doing her job. I allowed myself to think – for only a brief moment, I admit, because I was never that hopeful about this idiotic, unnecessary ‘Brexit’ referendum – I did allow myself to think that Britain would not so openly fall for hate.

Or, perhaps I am naïve, because I also allowed myself to have faith in a democratic process that is falling down completely.

For possibly the first time in my life, I am not torn between wanting to be in one place or the other. Rather, I can think of nowhere I want to be.

I cannot think of a place that might provide the solace of a ‘home’.

So, I am lost.

I will seek to find my way.

I will aim to speak out, to argue against hate and ignorance, to seek peace.

To create a home I can call my own.

Here or there.