Zanara Writers of the world

The sense of belonging has long been a recurring theme in my writing. Having moved more than forty times during my fifty years of life, I have spent much of my existence searching for home—a place to identify with, to root myself in, and to become part of its soul and heart. Some people inherit belonging naturally. Others spend a lifetime constructing it, city by city, street by street, café by café. But what makes us belong somewhere? Why do some places immediately feel like home, while others never truly embrace us? I believe cities are like people. They possess personalities, memories, unique energies and distinctive auras. Some are charismatic and impossible to forget. Others remain quiet companions, slowly revealing their beauty over time. New York seduces with ambition. Paris whispers romance. Florence still breathes art centuries after the Renaissance. Cities can resemble a first love, a mysterious stranger, or an old friend patiently waiting for our return. Perhaps every city creates its own collective spirit—an invisible field shaped by the dreams, fears, aspirations and memories of generations who have lived there. In esoteric traditions, this shared consciousness is known as an egregor: a living presence nourished by the thoughts, emotions and experiences of its inhabitants. The greater and more influential the city becomes, the stronger its egregor appears to be—its charisma, its magnetism, and sometimes even its shadows. In this way, each city gradually becomes the archetype of its own symbolic identity. Whenever I move somewhere new, I begin a silent courtship with the place. Some encounters resemble brief affairs, passionate yet fleeting. Others feel like a marriage proposal—a commitment to a deeper and more enduring relationship. During short visits, I search for practical things: a good coffee, a quiet corner, a bookstore, perhaps a crystal shop or a place of contemplation. But when I intend to stay, the relationship changes completely. I learn the rhythm of the city. I observe it at dawn. I listen to its silence. I discover its hidden habits. During my years in London, I learned a part of its identity. I found our common ground and gradually fell in love with a city that belonged to me between six and seven in the morning. At that hour, London softened. For a city that never sleeps, it seemed suspended between dreaming and awakening. I loved its parks, its independent cafés, its unusual door handles, its cloudy sky and its spirit of freedom. London felt deeply Aquarian—tolerant, unconventional and endlessly diverse. Barcelona was entirely different. There, I belonged to the crowd. Or perhaps I discovered that my own idea of belonging could also be defined by the energy of the crowd itself. The city pulsed with music, heat and movement. Its energy was collective, expressive and passionate. Some places allow us to become larger versions of ourselves. They make us feel visible even when nobody knows our name. Others diminish us. They leave us feeling disconnected, lonely and emotionally exhausted. Places can amplify our inner light—or quietly extinguish it. Every city leaves an imprint. Every move teaches resilience. Every relocation reveals something about who we are, what we seek and what we can tolerate. It is as if relocation opens a door to a different dimension and another version of ourselves. It gives us a chance for something new and fresh, an alternative reality in which we can reinvent ourselves. Perhaps belonging is not about finding the perfect place. Perhaps it is about discovering which version of ourselves emerges within each landscape. We do not merely travel through cities. Cities travel through us. They shape our memories, influence our dreams and alter our understanding of ourselves. And perhaps that is the greatest gift movement offers us: the opportunity to discover who we become when we dare to belong somewhere new.

City Life: Falling in Love with Places

Sense of Belonging

Healing After Change: Why We Grieve the Version of Ourselves We Used to Be

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