Heartfelt Treasure

By Alyssa Ip

"Wherever your heart is, that is where you'll find your treasure."
- Paulo Coehlo, The Alchemist

It seemed to me the coldest day of the year on the day I left for the desert. Outside lay all the evidence of what the residents in my hometown called “snowmageddon”: snow so thick and white weighing down the tree boughs until I thought it a miracle they wouldn’t break; topping all the houses with a frozen frosting that dripped off the rooftops in icicles that nearly pierced the ground; and spilling over from vainly shoveled driveways into streets and walkways, covering them all in a dense layer of winter wonderland. This was the day that I took my leave of all of the familiar people and places of home and stepped into the unknown.



The unknown, as it turned out, lay for me in the deserts of Arizona, just outside of Phoenix. Arriving in February, the clime was far more pleasant than the snow globe I had left behind. But I was not there for vacationing or sightseeing, though I did see many things—to be frank, mostly cacti—I was there to serve. At nineteen years old, I chose to put off my higher education in favor of volunteering as a missionary for my church. As such a full-time volunteer, I took on many roles; that of a house-painter, party decorator, garage organizer, dish washer, and food server, among others. But perhaps my favorite roles to fill were those of student and teacher. Being out among and talking with so many people each day, my fellow missionaries and I found ample opportunity to share the things we knew and loved about our God and His teachings—the things that brought us joy. Often we were favored in return with lessons from those we taught on the realities of life, change, and love, creating tender moments that I still carry with me.

Upon my return, the sudden immersion back into the greener and cooler climate of my childhood after the sun-beaten sands of the desert was nothing short of dizzying. From the steady and somewhat predictable purpose-driven work I did in Arizona, I was thrown into the hectic storm of preparing for my sister’s wedding day, which was set for three weeks after my return home. Though elated to be reunited with my family that had waited for me and was excited to see me after so long a time away, I felt a loss within my heart that did not seem to merit words. Time and experience had altered me in a way that I could not express. Feeling distant from the hustle and bustle of my family life and almost estranged from my sense of self, I yearned for a way to connect back with both my family and myself.

That evening, my family held a welcome home party, and I hugged and talked with all the people I had missed during my time in Arizona. One of my childhood friends, Cassie, came, and we talked for a very long time. She brought with her two books as a welcome home gift (the most perfect gift for a bookworm whose library consisted mainly of scriptures and selected religious literature for a year and a half). The one that caught my eye was entitled The Alchemist, by Paulo Coehlo. Joy and gratitude filled my heart as I looked past its bright cover and skimmed its pages; I itched to jump right in and lose myself in someone else’s story. I hugged and thanked my friend for her thoughtfulness and kindness—I would start reading it the next day.

In less than forty-eight hours, I had plowed through The Alchemist and recommended its virtues to my parents and siblings and anyone else who would listen. Perhaps it was the fact that this was the first book I had read after returning home from Arizona, or perhaps it was the simple but soulful words that emanated from its pages; either way, The Alchemist rose quickly in my esteem and on my favorite books list. The loss that I felt on my first day home did not leave me just yet, but it seemed to be more bearable with Coehlo’s words echoing in my mind.

The Alchemist is the story of a boy,  though I often felt that it was the story about me. It centers on the travels and adventures of a young shepherd who traverses sea and desert in search for a great treasure promised to him in a dream. Along the way, he receives help and lessons from individuals of diverse backgrounds, each of whom share lessons in wisdom from their wealth of life experiences. Among these, the lesson that struck me with the most power came from an exchange between the boy and a man called the alchemist:

"Why do we have to listen to our hearts?" the boy asked, when they had made camp that day.  

"Because, wherever your heart is, that is where you'll find your treasure." 

"But my heart is agitated," the boy said. "It has its dreams, it gets emotional, and it's become passionate over a woman of the desert. It asks things of me, and it keeps me from sleeping many nights, when I'm thinking about her." 

"Well, that's good. Your heart is alive. Keep listening to what it has to say."

In this brief dialogue, I found many parallels to my own life, especially to the current state of my existence then. My heart, it seemed, had become capricious; one moment, I would feel intense gratitude and love for my time in Arizona and for the incredible support that my family had given me all throughout my mission. And just as quickly, I would find myself barraged with pangs of loss and homesickness for a place I had come to think of as my own. Listening to my heart, fickle as it was, did not seem like the brightest idea.

But the straightforwardness of the exchange—the openness that the boy displayed in discussing his dilemma and the frankness of the alchemist’s answer—spoke directly to me in a way that no other words had since my return. I read the passage again, reveling in each deliberate word. I, like the boy, could not understand the thoughts of my heart as they came. I, like the boy, was confused about the messages my heart sent me. And I, like the boy, needed to learn the value of listening to what my heart had to say.

It took time, as all things do, but the feelings of loss and homesickness for Arizona dissipated, though the memories of my experiences there remained with me. I learned to listen to my heart, and to reconcile my feelings with myself. Doing so allowed me to connect back with the members of my family in a way that I had not been able to before, giving me great joy. I developed a better relationship with myself, and by understanding what it was that I truly wanted, I could direct myself along the path I was drawn to.

Coehlo’s novel is as simple as it is profound. It strips away the semantics of life situations down to what is truly essential. This beautiful simplicity and genuine sincerity of the tale is what sets it apart on the bookshelf and what calls readers back to its pages. It’s honesty about the realities of life, change, and love make it the perfect teacher for those students seeking to find their treasure.