They're just weeds, love, they don't belong anywhere.' Her granddaughter stuck out her bottom lip and furrowed her brow.
'That doesn't seem very nice. Everything belongs somewhere.

How could you ever feel comfortable if no matter where you went you felt like you belonged someplace else?

Life is a garden, don’t water the weeds.

Si pudiera descubrir porqué se encasillan, podría averiguar por qué yo no lo hago, por qué me he convertido en una chica invisible. El tipo de chica que tiene unos cuantos amigos y un montón de conocidos, pero no pertenece a nada en concreto. Supongo que ser invisible es mejor que fingir formar parte de algo; pero no te hace sentir menos solo.

When life is not coming up roses
Look to the weeds
and find the beauty hidden within them.

Through our maps, we willingly become a part of their boundaries. If our home is included, we feel pride, perhaps familiarity, but always a sense that this is ours. If it is not, we accept our roles as outsiders, though we may be of the same mind and culture. In this way, maps can be dangerous and powerful tools.