Home is not a place, its a feeling
The search for home is never-ending. Most people don’t even understand their search for home. Coz they don’t understand they are looking for home. Its just different semantics for different people. I like to call it home. Or at-least I used to. When I say home, most people think of the place they stay. Its not wrong, coz that’s what they see. Its something more from my perspective. But it has lost all its meaning to me. My best friend used to tell me – actions have more meaning than words. It took me a while to realise it. I have been naive for a very long time, falling for words from people. People I used to consider home.
Home – the place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household.
I am a very emotional person, sensitive to the core. Small things mean a lot to me, and those are the things that affect me the most. Lot of people have taken advantage of this personality of mine. In a way I am thankful to these people, to help me grow what I have become. But I also hold onto so much anger against these people, for breaking me into pieces like this. I understand, this anger doesn’t have any point. But then at the end of the day, I am just a human. Things always go beyond our control. My good therapist used to tell me – we all like to keep things under out control. I can understand, not every-time things will be under our control. We gotta go with the flow. Its easier said than done.
Home is a very safe place. My home kept my nightmares away from me. Home is where I discovered a lot about me. How extroverted I can be. How far I can go beyond my comfort zones. All those sleepless nights were worth it, coz I got to sleep like a baby at my home. The place I used to call home, or rather the person I used to call my home, is where I got to see the real me, the fun me, the happy me. I don’t know if I can bring back that me again. But I know it wont be the same again.
I always used to say, humans are very beautiful. Deep down I know, its not true. But when I look into their eyes, I can see a lot of things. The desperation in their eyes, to achieve something for their family. The hopes in their eyes. They too care for someone deeply. Sometimes I wish, I could see the struggles they are going through. Try to understand their pain, give them a long hug, tell them everything is going to be okay. I try to connect with lot of people. Try my best to help them through whatever going through. But these days, I don’t find any strength to connect with anyone. There are days where I stop talking to people. I cant explain why I put myself in self-isolation.
I try to put up a positive face for people I love. Coz I know how it affects them. But they fail to understand how it affects me as well. Sometimes it makes me feel like, it wouldn’t make any difference to these people, even if I stop talking to them for days. I can understand everybody is a grown adult, and they are busy with their lives. But even I would like to feel prioritised sometimes. That’s why nothing feels like home anymore. I cant feel anything anymore. I used to love rain. It always felt home, when it rains. It used to give me a spark when I see rain. And always makes me smile, when I get drenched in rain. But now, nobody knows if its rain drops or my tear drops. The black cloud is filled with sadness and emptiness.
My home has been shattered into pieces. And I am very sacred to find a new home. I cant fall for words anymore. And I hate this world for trying to find home through physical appearances. Whenever somebody talks about physical beauty and physical intimacy, it kills me inside. My stomach gets twisted very badly, I run out of breathe. But I am not going to show this to anyone anymore. Everybody wants to fall in love with the strengths. But I want to fall in love with their flaws. There is no home anymore, I don’t even have the strength to look for one anymore. Home was supposed to be the place where family stay. But families don’t break you into pieces and break you again, while you are still trying to pick up the pieces. Home is a not a place, its a feeling. Home is a lie.