Photo of a Statue of Liberty silhouette adorning a large window, by Hazel E Guler
She emerged through the glass, her crown barely visible at first… but her presence, unmistakable.
Some symbols fade. They glow for a moment, then dissolve into the noise of daily life. Others follow you home. They linger in the background—across time zones and turning points—whispering reminders of what you’ve carried, and what has carried you.
This Lady? She’s the latter.
She has crossed oceans and borders in my mind—not just as a monument, but as a feeling. A kind of guardianship. Not perfect, not untroubled, but steadfast. Rooted in hope, resilience, and the quiet audacity to dream out loud.
Lady Liberty strikes a chord in me. I, too, have crossed oceans and borders—both physical and invisible. Between countries, between dreams, between selves I’ve outgrown. Through seasons of hope, disillusionment, and fierce self-reclamation.
Some days, I feel far from home. Other days, I find pieces of it reflected back at me—in glass, in light, in memory.
Presence isn’t always loud. Sometimes, it’s just persisting, quietly, against the dark.
Like her, I keep watch. Even in silence. Even when I’m barely visible--
especially then.
Some symbols fade. They glow for a moment, then dissolve into the noise of daily life. Others follow you home. They linger in the background—across time zones and turning points—whispering reminders of what you’ve carried, and what has carried you.
This Lady? She’s the latter.
She has crossed oceans and borders in my mind—not just as a monument, but as a feeling. A kind of guardianship. Not perfect, not untroubled, but steadfast. Rooted in hope, resilience, and the quiet audacity to dream out loud.
Lady Liberty strikes a chord in me. I, too, have crossed oceans and borders—both physical and invisible. Between countries, between dreams, between selves I’ve outgrown. Through seasons of hope, disillusionment, and fierce self-reclamation.
Some days, I feel far from home. Other days, I find pieces of it reflected back at me—in glass, in light, in memory.
Presence isn’t always loud. Sometimes, it’s just persisting, quietly, against the dark.
Like her, I keep watch. Even in silence. Even when I’m barely visible--
especially then.
