I miss home today. Which is weird because I don’t really know what home is. Home is ambiguous. Is it that place where I spent the sixteen years of my life, from where are attached my memories of loved and lost ones? Or is it that place where I was supposed to have been born and brought up in, if everything had gone according to plan.? Or is it this city that I currently live in, that I feel attached to and detached from every other minute, the intensity of the two conflicting feelings so strong that it could only be compared to feeling bipolar? I don’t know. I don’t even know if it’s home I am missing, or just the feeling of belonging somewhere, anywhere.
Maybe, however, it’s not a tragic story. Maybe I truly belong to many spaces and places. Instead of belonging nowhere, I belong to a lot of places at the same time. However, that brings me pain too. Because then I am nothing but a puzzle. If I need to search for myself, where do I start? What do I take with me on this journey of discovering, (or recovering) myself? What part of me should I let go of? I do not know. Unlike usually, where I am exhaustingly optimistic, I am not going to end this post on a hopeful note. I am just going to wish as I type these words that one day, I will be home, wherever that might be.