On this little tropical island, there is a very old town house on Emerald Hill.
Built at the turn of the twentieth century, this old house has been lovingly restored, with handmade bricks on a wall in the inner courtyard where two koi swim in a pond under a skylight. I have never been inside these old houses on Emerald Hill in the heart of the city’s shopping district, though I have been to those converted into Italian restaurants or bistros. It’s not the same, is it?
But in the past week, I have had the good fortune to be spending whole days in this house on Emerald Hill–I’ve called it the House of Peace, for I’ve felt such a rare sense of calmness and tranquility–under its hundred-year-old rafters. It has been a particularly difficult week personally, but the house, the spirit of the place, has enveloped me in its old embrace, and my heart has managed to stay on an even keel through turbulent inner moments.
You will see me through this,
You will see me through this too.