i enjoy travelling. now, much more than ever. now, with ambitions to go further and wider than ever. and now, braver – for the wrong reasons – than ever, but with more guts nonetheless.
what worries me is what i will be left with when the adventure is over. when these legs can no longer bring me to new places. when these eyes can no longer see beautiful things. when all that is left from this period of roaming is but a treasure chest buried in my mind. i won’t be a traveller – at least an adventure seeker – forever. one day, i will find a place to live out the days. and maybe, therein lies the true quest of all these meanderings…
… to find a home.
i spoke with a colleague on this matter and he suggested that when all is over and it is time to go home, my family will always be the one i return to. to me, that means returning to the house of my parents after i come back from everywhere else. and although i do not disagree that family bond is something i can never erase or let go of, to have drifted apart is something i cannot deny. and i do not mean just physically. but of thought. of expectations. of perceptions. i am somewhat uncomfortable with the idea that family is something you are stuck with and a fate you are forced to accept. that they love you, but might not exactly like you.
and so, i am afraid of this. when i return, years from now from this adventure i embark on, will they still be the same? as for me, i know i won’t. would they like the new me? they might accept me because i am family, but will they like me? if i was not family and simply a stranger who strolled by, would i be someone they would like to be friends with?
in a way, it is not really the matter of having a house to return to. but a place which transcends all of this: a home. a place to feel loved – just for being. a place to feel safe. where i don’t have to put up a show and pretend to be that strong, brave girl that is going places and meeting people. but a place where i can just be. me. where i can pour out my pains and have them soothed. where i can bitch and bitch and bitch and others would join in the bitching orgy. where i can cry. and i can be weak. where i am allowed to be afraid. and someone would give me a hug. before i face the world again.
a place my mind can find its peace.
a place my heart can feel safe.
the past few years of going places taught me that “home” does not need to be a place after all. it could be a person.
this is where my increasingly depressed state of mind takes over.
now you know why i cry every night. you were my home.
i miss you.