Dear Juan, I know you have been through a lot this past year. 2020 has been the official "Karen" of all years we had to endure. With Covid-19 and natural disasters happening all around the world. Not to mention the stress level politics brings over; and of course, your fiancé passing away last year in January. With all this stress and emotions that you kept pent up inside, is not good for you to keep suffering like this.

I was three years old when I went on my first pilgrimage to El Salvador, and I was 23 the first time I went to Spain, the other Motherland.

Many people spend their lives searching for their Jerusalem or their Mecca. A place that all roads seem to lead back to. A destination that makes the journey of life worthwhile. I began a similar search a year ago, but rather than searching for my Mecca, I was searching for my Edinburgh. Edinburgh, Scotland hardly has the same cultural significance that Mecca or Jerusalem have, but its importance in the life of author J.K. Rowling was like a pilgrimage in some ways. Rowling has said before that the majority of the Harry Potter series was written in the city of Edinburgh. A place that, for her, yielded inspiration in a way that she had never experienced previously. As a writer, this is what I long for. A place where a masterpiece can almost be written just from the sights and sounds itself.

When the day is all said and done, where does my lonely heart go? Not to sleep, that’s for certain. Quiet jazz fills my subconscious with a tingle of emotion as the aroma of raindrops fills the empty room. My head races through snapshots of days come and gone. Replaying every moment where joy was felt just to try and find some comfort in the forsaken darkness of a winter evening. I close my eyes in an attempt to force calmness on my soul, but it instead finds peace in wandering.

Sometimes, when we least expect it, the Universe tosses us a glimpse of the destiny we will face. There are things that happen in life that allow us to share experiences with those who we had no idea we would meet. I actually believe that people are here to help each other get through certain trials. I'm not sure if I was helping her, or she was aiding me, but I know that we got past a rough time together, and that this story still touches me in ways I can never disremember.

I'll be VERY honest with you. . and please don't hold it against me. I am definitely not a "Zen" kind of guy. I don't do yoga. I don't meditate. And I don't read the writings of monks and of ancient philosophers. There is no "ying" pulling at my "yang". I don't see dead people. .

I had always hoped that life would be easy for me. In fact, most people think it is since my family is well off. But the truth is, even with access to all of their wealth, it does not make me happy. Being the heiress to a large conglomerate comes with its own sort of responsibilities which have left me feeling tired of the life I lead. More than anything, I want to experience what it is like to not have their wealth, their access to the world. And so, as a result of this desire, I set out on a journey on my own, with nothing but four thousand dollars and my car.

As I sit here, drinking yet another cup of coffee, I can’t help but to think about all of the people who have asked about the RV and what it’s like living in it. If it’s easier, cheaper and what the pros and cons are. Who and what do I listen to heading down the road.

A hectic, busy week of work and responsibilities... bills to pay, family to take care of and what seems like a million things to do. I always thought as I got older and my boys grew into adulthood that my days would slow down and I would have more time. It seems, however, that my days have just gotten busier! My small business has, over the years, changed and grown from the tiny woodshop it started out as into a adding a greenhouse for several years (now closed) and a few years ago adding custom jewelry to the line up. I now focus almost exclusively on handmade custom stone jewelry, which is why I am writing this story...

It was late in April, and winter was still in the air. The snow had melted away, but the days were still short. It was raining cold and the wind bitter and cold. The logging camp had been open for just a few weeks.

I'm writing this because nobody said this to me before I left, I'm doing it for whoever is moving out of their home now to start a new life - a better life - and I hope I can do justice to inform you of what you'll be experiencing.

Pulling up at London Heathrow, I’m greeted by 3 dapper members of staff in crisp black suits. One of them welcomes me with a warm smile, handing me a bag embossed with the UAE embassy emblem. The others smile too and swiftly load my luggage onto a trolley. For a moment I allow myself to enjoy the VIP treatment and extra assistance… just for a moment. I know that they were smiling from the soft lines that appeared around their eyes, but the reality is that their masks shielded their smiles. And inside the bag? Extra gloves and an N95 mask. The reality of the situation is unsettling. Nerves set in. Soon after having surgery in London restrictions started being enforced and the news of flights to Dubai being grounded, without knowing when they would resume, hit me like a ton of bricks. I had already been self-isolating for a month, taking every precaution to protect myself from this invisible beast that is Covid-19 and still unable to carry more than a light handbag. But when I got the call giving me the option to “fly now or potentially not be able to return to your children for many more months” I had to weigh up the risks. As an Emirati, I knew I was on the priority list and getting that seat was a huge privilege. At the airport, check in was done at lightening speed and going through security was an absolute breeze. As a frequent traveller, I relished in this usually arduous, albeit highly necessary, process being so smooth. If only it was like that all the time! Around 20 people were dotted around the departure lounge, alternate seats blocked as per social distancing guidelines and the only outlet open was the pharmacy, making the shopping experience strangely exclusive. As a few of us moved around, maneuvering ourselves awkwardly past each other, we could have been mistaken for doing some elaborate exotic dance. The quietness was heavy. Part of me longed for the good ol’ days of endless loudspeaker announcements and the dreaded screaming of toddlers running around bored. The information screens still hung from the ceilings, lit up listing far off destinations but the gate details were replaced by CANCELLED. The heaviness of the situation was palpable. 10 of us boarded the flight to Dubai, instructed that gloves and masks must be worn at all times. The elegant Emirates cabin crew greeted us but of course with the addition of PPE covering their usual beige and red uniforms. We were individually escorted to the economy cabin and seated rows apart. After take off I could sense movement in the cabin and hoped for a good vegetarian meal option, anticipating the “chicken or beef?” offering. This question didn’t come. Instead we received sealed meal boxes, as per the limited service that could be offered in lines with the safety guidelines. I felt transported. Was it mild asphyxiation from wearing the mask for so long, anxiety caused by the potential exposure to this virus after being isolated for so many weeks or simply the surreal situation? I didn’t know, but glancing around the cabin, one could be mistaken for thinking we are staging a scene from Stephen Kings The Langoliers. Upon arrival into Dubai, we were taken by bus to the terminal. My pulse racing, I couldn’t pinpoint why I was so nervous. Entering the arrivals hall, I felt that heavy eerie silence again. Greeted by a row of health authority personnel in hazmat suits, we were guided step by step through DHA registrations followed by the all important Covid-19 test. As I lowered my mask for them to take the nose swab I realized just how long I had it on my face. The test was quick and uncomfortable, but not painful. As I put my mask back on I winced. It had grazed the bridge of my nose. I scolded myself, thinking about all the frontline workers wearing masks day in and day out. Immigration was quick, as was baggage claim. Guided as a group every step of the way, we were led to individual taxis all ceremoniously lined up and flanked by police cars ready to escort us to our respective quarantine hotels. I apologized to the official explaining that I needed to find an ATM machine to pay for the taxi. He laughed. “It's all paid for my dear. This is Dubai!” Yes, I thought. This is Dubai, but not the Dubai I left a few weeks ago.